


Distant Lives//Book Two of the Separate Entities Trilogy

by kat_martine



Series: The Separate Entities Trilogy [2]
Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: F/M, Gen, Sequel, book two of three, hollowcity, kallard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-08-19 00:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_martine/pseuds/kat_martine
Summary: Kallie Sanders and her best friend, Jacob Portman, have uncovered a long-hidden secret about a long-hidden world, and now it's time for them to save it. Along with their new, peculiar friends and their equally peculiar bird, Kallie and Jacob must find and save others like them. Will they make it? Or will the world of the peculiars be lost forever at the hands of the corrupted wights?---I recommend reading the first book prior to this, as this is the second book of 'The Separate Entities Trilogy'. Thank you!---WARNING: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said I would have this up yesterday, but I was a bit preoccupied as I went to see the movie instead! Thank you all for reading my own little trilogy, and I hope you enjoy this as much as the original second book! As I'm still writing this one, I will update every Saturday from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I would have this up yesterday, but I was a bit preoccupied as I went to see the movie instead! Thank you all for reading my own little trilogy, and I hope you enjoy this as much as the original second book!

A plane sounded overhead. Waves below us splashed against our three little boats. Oars hit and rose from the water, each rotation taking us farther and farther from the life we had to leave behind. Jacob looked up, and I could only wonder what he was thinking. I needed to give him more credit - he may have decided not to go to college, but he certainly wasn't stupid. He was smarter than me, probably, and his thought process was a lot more profound than mine - if that made sense. I could see him being an author, like his father. Maybe, if we survived the journey, he could write down our story one day.

Time went by slowly - after just half an hour I felt like we should have arrived at our destination. Of course, we wouldn't reach mainland Wales for another few hours, and I was beginning to grow bored. That boredom was temporarily put to rest when Horace tapped my shoulder, letting me know silently that it was my turn to row. As soon as he sat down where I had been, he asked loudly how far we had left to go. I looked at Emma, who had a simple map of Wales and its islands. After a contemplative moment, she replied.

"Seven kilometers?" she shouted back, sounding quite unsure. Millard, who was in my boat and examining the Map of Days, looked up at that, a frown on his face.

"Make that eight and a half," he corrected, and the rest of us let out a collective groan. Once Horace and I switched back, I would request to stay that way - I hated boats, and after just a few moments of rowing, I was already feeling queasy. Now, with eight and a half kilometers between us and our destination, I felt even sicker. If we were back in 2013, a ferry could have made the distance in about an hour. I dreaded few things more than the idea of the harrowing boat ride ahead. One of these things, of course, were the monsters that were set on our deaths - hollowgasts, and to a lesser extent, wights.

Those goddamn creatures - I couldn't bring myself to consider wights humans, despite their likenesses to us - were somewhere below us in a German submarine, a thought that only made me feel worse. I wondered if they already knew we'd fled the island - if they didn't, they would soon find out. Another plane flew overhead, causing me to flinch and nearly drop the oars in my hands. I just hoped we'd reach the mainland before night fell.

\---

By noon I was sure we all regretted not bringing fresh water with us. I was glad Horace was alright with not switching anymore, so only Fiona and Millard switched from time to time - even then, Millard would ask for a little extra time to study the Map. The only two downsides I saw to not rowing were that I was constantly bored, and I felt bad for not doing my share of the work. I knew I would have to make up for it later on. 

While I sat, waiting in the center of the boat, my mind had time to wander. What could my parents possibly think about my call? It had been long enough now that they'd be awake - what would they make of it now that their thoughts were no longer covered by a blanket of sleep? How could Kev react to seeing the twin room keys back on the counter without so much as a goodbye note? I was only overthinking, but the burning sun and monotonous rhythm of oars hitting the waves were slowly driving me crazy - not to mention my lack of sleep.

Somewhere in my growing delirious state, I began wishing for Bronwyn's strength - she was rowing a whole boat by herself. She made it look easy; there was hardly a bead of sweat on her forehead and her boat had more cargo than the other two, that cargo being Claire, Olive, and several heavy trunks. In these trucks were several practical things, like clothes and food and books the children couldn't bear to leave behind. However, as one may expect from peculiar children, there were some more peculiar items as well - for instance, Enoch had packed a few jars of disembodied animal hearts, and Hugh was sure to store the house's front doorknob in a pocket in his bag. He'd found it in the grass on our way from the house and refused to leave without it - none of us could object, nor could we object Horace's request to bring along his lucky pillow, which he said helped keep his worst nightmares at bay.

There were some items, however, that were just too precious to even let go of. Myself, for instance, and a portrait I'd painted of Millard. Even for the short time I had been rowing, I had held it between my knees, just as Fiona was doing with a pot of worm infested dirt from the garden she used to tend. Millard - the invisible boy and, admittedly, the object of my affection - had streaked ash across his face as a sort of mourning ritual. I hadn't the heart to tell him he looked sort of ridiculous doing it. 

I was surprised when he flipped the Map of Days closed and switched spots with Fiona, allowing her time to rest after nearly an hour and a half of rowing. Not twelve hours ago he'd been shot near his collar bone, though I supposed if he thought he could manage rowing, I wouldn't object. I, too, had been shot, though the bullet merely grazed my arm. It wasn't nearly as bad as Millard's injury. I felt bad that I couldn't help with rowing, but my fear of boats was nearly crippling - I almost didn't get in.

Three harrowing hours passed, and the only telltale sigh that we had been going anywhere was the very island we were leaving behind, fading into the distance the more we rowed. It looked tiny now, almost as if I could hold it in my hand. It seemed I wasn't the only one who noticed the island's gradual disappearance, for Enoch rose quickly, causing his boat to wobble a bit.

"Look! It's disappearing!" he shouted, pointing a finger in the direction of the island. Those who were rowing stopped as we all focused on the home we were leaving behind as tendrils of fog hid it from view.

"It's time to say goodbye," Emma said, a frown on her face as she said what we were all probably thinking. She stood as well and removed her sunhat as a sign of respect. "This may be that last time we see it."

"Farewell, island. You were very good to us," Hugh began, a couple bees flying out of his mouth as if they too were saying goodbye.

Horace began waving goodbye, and I couldn't help but notice a tear streak down Millard's cheek, breaking up some of the ash. It was then that I remembered his book, and how it would forever and always be unfinished. All those years of close documentations had gone to waste along with his home. "Goodbye, house," Horace said, invading my thoughts. "I will miss all your rooms and gardens, but most of all, I will miss my bed." I wanted to laugh at that but I knew I couldn't.

"Goodbye, loop," Olive spoke next, wiping at her own tears. "Thank you for keeping us safe after all these years."

"Good years," Bronwyn added. I swear I could feel my heart break and drop. "The best years I've known."

I felt that I would be intruding if I voiced my own goodbye, so instead, I kept it internal. I would forever be tied to this island, just as each of the other would be. I may not have had the memories of many years spent there, but I knew that this place had changed me nonetheless. This place, this island, would forever be in my memories and the memories of all the children it was home to over the years. I began to wonder: if I were to die tomorrow, what would I be remembered for? It saddened me to think about, really, but I wanted to be known for something I did, not the person I was. I was more than just the girl who could see ghosts. I don't think people realized that.

As I watched the island fade from view and the others kept rowing, I wondered how long I had left before I too disappeared. Nothing could last forever, not even memories. One day, the house would be long forgotten, along with all the children who once called it home. I, too, would be forgotten. A tear slipped down my cheek, but someone wiped it away. I looked away from the house - or where it had been, at least - to see Millard, who had switched with Fiona once more. His eyes were worried, his smile was sad. I took his hand and squeezed it, silently letting him know that I would be okay. We would all be okay.

I looked back toward the island, and just for a second, I saw the tips of its tallest trees peek out from behind the fog. I knew then that we would never be forgotten. I couldn't let it happen. The island disappeared from view for the very last time, hidden at last by the growing fog. I wondered for a moment if it had ever been there at all.

\---

It wasn't long after we'd lost sight of the island that the fog caught up with us, surrounding us in a shroud of white. Though it was just noon the sun was a blurred white splotch that was merely brighter than everything else. My stomach turned - we couldn't see where we were going and I could have sworn I heard thunder in the distance. Everyone who was rowing stopped, but without the gentle splash of oars hitting the water, things felt off. I suddenly realized how silent the world had become. There, surrounded by fog with no signs of where we were coming from or where we were going, I felt like we were trapped in a never-ending abyss of suffocating white. The silence was becoming nearly stifling and the air was beginning to grow thick until Bronwyn spoke up.

"I don't like this at all. If we stay still for too long it'll be night and bad weather'll be the least of our problems," she said. 

As if the world decided it would be funny to screw us over, the wind picked up and it didn't matter that we couldn't see where we were going anymore because all we needed to see was below us. The waves grew dangerously choppy and capped with white foam, washing over the sides of our boats and tossing us around. There was a louder clap of thunder and rain began to fall, abnormally large drops of water slapping against our skin and chilling us to the bone in seconds. I couldn't help but think back to what one of the men on the ferry Jacob and I took to the island said: this stretch of sea had taken many lives over the years. My stomach dropped again - we were probably next.

"Turn into the waves! They'll flip us if they can hit the sides!" Bronwyn shouted, her voice rising above the loud crashing of waves as she cut through the water with her oars. Fiona and Horace, who were rowing our boat, tried to abide but failed - after hours upon hours of rowing, they were just too tired. I could tell Jacob and Hugh were probably just as worn out. But I wasn't. I turned towards Horace and held out my hands, silently asking for the oars, dismissing how much having to deal with redirecting a boat in stormy waters scared me. He smiled graciously and handed me the oars before clutching his hat and switching spots with me.

Upon sitting back down, I invested all my might in steering the boat around, but Fiona seemed to think I had enough strength to do it on my own, for she dropped her own set of oars and clutched the gunwales for dear life. It seemed that the others had the same idea - me and Bronwyn were the only two still making an effort to not capsize. Without Fiona's assistance, the weight I had to carry was twice as much, but so was my determination. Unfortunately, every ounce of resolution in my disappeared at the sight of a wall of water rushing towards us, gaining height to the point that it could wash over all three boats at once.

It didn't though, but rather our boats began to climb the wave. I dropped the oars as soon as I began to feel the boat lift and clutched to the sides of the boat instead, hoping that it would be enough to keep me alive. I quickly dropped back into the middle of the boat, and Millard pushed past Horace to grab ahold of me, paying no attention to his injury as he did. I thought I was cold, but Millard would probably have hypothermia of the weather carried on like it was. While I was dressed in a sensible pair of capris, a tank top - one that wasn't covered in the blood of myself and Millard - and a hoodie, Millard was in just a pair of pants - for my sake - and the bandage binding his bullet wound. 

I was compelled to hug him, as it was the only thing I could think of to keep us both warm-ish, so I did, pressing the Map of Days between our chests so that he didn't have to worry about holding onto three things at once. We each had one arm around each other and the other clutching the side of the boat, and as the boat tipped over the top of the wave, everything we weren't holding onto came flying out - my bag of clothes and snack food that I'd been carrying along with me since Florida, a couple other bags - I couldn't tell whose were whose anymore - and my painting of Millard, streaked with ash and rain and causing the paint to run. It didn't even matter that I lost it - it was ruined. That thought didn't seem to register in my head until after I had let go of Millard and reached for it a little too late, tumbling over the side along with it, hitting the back of my head against the side of another boat as I went. I felt the wind and water strike my skin and tear tendrils of my hair from its ponytail before I hit the water.

The impact was more painful than a bullet, and I would know. Dark water surged around me and pulled at my hair. I could have sworn I saw a fish swim by my sneaker-clad foot. Everything was blurry, then I realized that I could see three large greenish-bluish-brownish blobs just above me - the boats! I willed myself to swim towards them but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The water stopped moving so wildly up above but my vision was blurred by the red intruding my sight. I finally recognized the pain at the back of my head that was different than the stinging of hitting the water at such a breakneck speed. Instead, it was the stinging of salt touching a wound, and I remembered that I'd hit my head. My hand grazed something - whether it was a bag or a shark I couldn't tell. The blobs above me seemed to be growing smaller, but I didn't remember them beeing so dark. Everything was just too blurry...

\---

A bought of coughs shook my body and mind awake and seconds later I was being jerked up and pressed against something - a body? The ground beneath me was solid but rocking back and forth, so I was able to piece together that we were still in the boats. My eyes finally focused on something not too far away - Jacob's face, scared and worried, and Emma right next to him. Just beyond her, perched on the very tip of the bow, sat Miss Peregrine, her feathers still sopping wet. I refocused on the person who was hugging me - Millard, of course - and hugged him back tightly, or at least I tried, what with my weakened arms. He released me almost immediately and looked me in the eyes, keeping one hand on the arm that hadn't been shot and the other cradling my cheek.

"You scared us all half to death," he said softly, though a small smile was on his face. "Jacob performed-" he stopped and looked up at Jake. "What was it, again?"

"CPR," he replied, then chuckled at the blush rising on my cheeks. "Just chest compressions, though," he elaborated, setting my mind at ease. I finally took a look around, noticing how much our surroundings had changed. Now there were only two boats between the twelve of us, and Bronwyn sat rowing in the second one next to a rope that extended into the clouds. Hugh, Fiona, Horace, and Claire were with her in her boat and kept glancing up, leading me to believe that Olive was up in the clouds and Enoch was somewhere behind me. But what were Bronwyn and Olive doing?

Noticing my confused look, Millard spoke. "We lost the map, so Olive is leading us to shore. We found her dangling at the end of that rope just after Bronwyn pulled you up about forty-five minutes ago. We've been moving for nearly half an hour, now. We were about to give up on resuscitating you, but you pulled through."

I smiled at him but had to stop when a sharp pain began throbbing at the back of my head. I reached up and touched the spot where it hurt before pulling my hand back to see blood. I looked down there my head had been laying on the floor of the boat to see blood seeping through what was left of the water settled on the bottom.

"God," Jacob said, sighing as he did. "You two are the most injury-prone people I know." I couldn't help but laugh at that as I pulled off my maroon hoodie and held it to my wound. At least the bloodstains wouldn't show up on it, unlike the white tank-top I had to throw out just that morning.

After another moment of filling me in on all that had happened while I was out - not much, to say the least - we got Enoch to give up his seat so I could lean against it and rest. Slowly but surely we made our way to the shore, the only indication of time passing being the slowly setting sun. The fog swirled around us, reminding me only slightly of ghosts - if ghosts could fly and melt together to create a big gray mass. In the last couple moments before sleep overtook me, I rested my head - the side that wasn't bleeding - on Millard's shoulder and let myself think. Then thinking became wondering, and wondering became fantasizing, and my eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and fantasizing finally became dreaming.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children finally make it to the mainland, only to be met with an unpleasant surprise.

The sound of stones scraping wood was what woke me up. Millard was no longer beside me - he was already climbing out of the boat. I stretched and stood before doing the same, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw that the sun was still just barely over the horizon. Another hour and we would have been immersed in complete darkness. I'd spent most of my life in a house by the ocean, but I had never been happier to see a beach in my life. The first stretch of our journey was over, and though we still had so far to go, my hopes were rising. We had all survived - so far.

I looked around at the others - I could only imagine how they must have felt. If I was feeling so exhilarated after that boat ride, how must they feel? It had been so long since they'd set foot of the island, after all, and anything new - as Jacob and I had been just weeks ago - was the definition of astounding. And if that wasn't it, it was just the fact that we were alive, all of us.

As we stumbled our way onto the shore, I took notice of Fiona as she scraped up a couple stones and put them in her mouth, as if she was reconnecting with solid ground. It made sense, after all, what with her peculiarity. Or perhaps she was just looking for proof that we had made it, that this was real and she wasn't dreaming. I was wondering just the same thing. With a grunt, Bronwyn sank to the ground, though after everything she'd done for us it was completely understandable. We all bid her thanks - Claire even hugged her - though it didn't feel like enough. She'd rowed us halfway across the stretch of water between Cairnholm and the mainland - there was no way a simple 'thank you' would ever be enough.

As Bronwyn waved us all away, the boys - along with Emma - reeled Olive down from the clouds. "You've gone blue!" Emma cried upon seeing the little girl up close and pulled her to her in a tight hug. Olive was blue, or near it, at least. She was shivering and soaked to the core - I could hear her teeth chattering from a couple yards away. There were no blankets, no dry clothes, and next to nothing left of our belongings after the storm, so Emma began warming Olive with her ever-hot hands and ordered Horace and Fiona to go search for firewood.

In their absence, we all huddled around the boats to take stock of everything we'd lost. In other terms, we deliberately tortured ourselves by revisiting the fact that all we had were the clothes on our backs, a few small tins of food, and a large and very heavy - and apparently unsinkable - suitcase only Bronwyn could lift. With great haste we opened the trunk, hoping to God that there would something that could help us. Our hoping was in vain, however, for all we were met with was a three volume set of books entitled The Tales of the Peculiar and an ornately decorated bath mat with the letters ALP embroidered on it - I recognized them as Miss Peregrine's initials, though I didn't know her middle name.

"Oh, joy!" Enoch said. "Someone brought along the bath mat. We're all saved!" Though none of us appreciated his sarcastic comment, we all had to agree that it was rather unfortunate nothing else had survived. I jumped when I felt a hand grab my forearm, but it was just Millard who was standing next to me and breathing heavily, fear in his eyes.

"The Map of Days! It was one of only five existing copies and I lost it!" he cried, then began pacing back and forth across the beach. "It was priceless! Years and years of notes and annotations - to waste!" I felt bad for him, but I had to breathe a sigh of relief - the way he clutched my arm so quickly and suddenly made me think he was dying or something.

"Well, we've got The Tales of the Peculiar, if that helps," Claire said as she wrung the water from her golden-blonde hair. "I can't sleep without hearing one."

Millard finally stopped pacing and turned to her, a frown on his face. "What good does a book of fairy tales do when we can't even find our way?" He was about to start pacing again when I set a hand on his shoulder, afraid that if he worked himself up too much he might have opened his wound again. He stopped and faced me, and when our eyes met I saw a fiery intensity I'd only seen once before - back on the lighthouse, nearly twenty-four hours prior, when he kissed me because he thought he wouldn't survive. This was different, though - he was terrified. It took seeing that look for me to realize that I was, too.

Back on Cairnholm, we had all talked about getting off the island to find Miss Peregrine some help, but we never thought past getting to the mainland. Now, without the Map of Days, we were completely and utterly lost, and there was no way to know who or where or when to go to, and it scared us all. Or maybe it was just me. I didn't want to feel anything at all. Millard hugged me to his chest and rested his chin atop my head. Alright, I thought, maybe I want to feel this.

\---

I was sitting in a boat - both were now fully on the beach - wringing my hands and studying the foreboding forest that stretched as far as I could see when Fiona and Hugh finally came back. Fiona's hair was wild as ever, maybe wilder, thanks to the wind that had picked up, and Horace clung to his top hat as if his life depended on it. How he'd managed to keep ahold of it in the storm, I didn't know. It looked as broken as my spirit - one side was smashed inward and I wouldn't be surprised if it was still very wet. I got out of the boat, joining the others, but frowned when I saw that they came back with empty arms.

"We couldn't find any wood," Horace explained as soon as he and Fiona reached us. I sighed and ran a hand through my damp, tangled hair.

"Did you check the woods?" Sarcasm dripped from Emma's voice as she pointed to the trees just behind the sand dunes.

"It was too scary, there was an owl."

"And since when, exactly, have you been afraid of birds?"

Horace merely shrugged and began smoothing out his waistcoat for what must have been the seventh time before Fiona elbowed him. "Right! We did find something else."

"Shelter?" Emma asked, her blue eyes suddenly brighter.

"Or a road?" asked Millard.

"A goose we can cook for supper?" asked Olive.

Horace shook his head. "No. Balloons."

My eyes narrowed and I tilted my head; what did he mean? Emma asked as much.

"Big, black balloons, flying through the air with men inside," Horace replied. "We can show you if you like."

"Please," Emma said, a frown evident on her face. Then we were off, following Horace and Fiona back the way they'd come, rounding a bend in the beach and climbing a sand dune. It surprised me that we didn't see any hot air balloons - they were so vibrant, after all, that it would be near-impossible to not see them. But as we all reached the top of another hill, I understood. We hadn't seen any hot air balloons because there weren't any. Instead, two small zeppelins piloted by one man each were flying low over the coastline, zig-zagging as they went. The sounds of waves falling on the beach muffled the whirring of the propellers.

Emma ushered us all into a large patch of tall grass and we ducked out of sight of the two dirigibles. "Those're submarine hunters," Enoch said, glancing back up at them as he answered our unasked question. "It's the best way to spy enemy ships and subs from the sky."

"They why are they so close to the ground?" asked Jacob. "And why aren't they further out to sea?" My eyes widened and a lump grew in my throat. Could they be wights?

"You don't think they're looking for us, do you?" Horace asked, seeming to think along the lines of what I was. I began picking at a piece of grass, hoping that keeping myself busy in the slightest would calm my nerves.

Hugh scoffed. "Oh, don't be daft. They can't be wights, because they're with the Germans on that sub."

"The wights won't care who they're allied with, so long as they can get ahold of as many ymbrynes as possible. Who's to say they haven't infiltrated organizations on both sides of the war?" Millard said, acting as the voice of reason once again. I looked back up at the zeppelins and tossed away the last little bits of grass in my hands before I took hold of another one. I ripped it into little bits and was about to go for another when Millard placed a hand on mine and stopped me. I looked at him with a frown, shook his hand off, and grabbed another one anyway. The only thing that really began setting my mind at ease was when I noticed the two blimps were heading away from us.

Enoch assessed and reassessed the zeppelins - he hadn't taken his eyes off them. "I don't like how they're flying. They're searching the coastline, not the sea."

"But what are they searching for?" Bronwyn asked, impatience evident in her tone. We all knew the answer, though - it was obvious, and it scared the hell out of all of us. They were looking for us. We all huddled closer together, waiting for someone to say what to do next.

"Run when I say so," Emma commanded in a hushed voice. "We'll hide the boats, first, then ourselves." We all nodded, then sat in wait for the zeppelins to disappear.

As soon as the second dirigible had floated far enough away, we all broke free from our cover. As we sprinted down the beach I hoped to all things holy that we were far enough away that we wouldn't get spotted. Oh, what I wouldn't have given for the fog to return and conceal us once more. Without its misty shroud, the pilots in the zeppelins might have seen us hours ago. It may have sent us astray on our journey to the mainland, but at that moment, it was the lesser of two evils.

We all took hold of a boat, the adrenaline pumping through my veins making it feel lighter than it might have. Bronwyn was almost asleep on her feet, so the rest of us did most of the work - not that we minded, seeing as we would rather haul two boats across a beach then get caught by wights. We hurried a little way down the beach toward a sea cave, its dark opening less than inviting. We stumbled more than once when the noses of the boats dug into the ground, but we carried on, determined to make it to the cave in time.

When we were halfway there Miss Peregrine let out a cry. Some of us, myself included, looked over our shoulders, alarmed to see the zeppelins return to our line of sight. We - somehow - picked up the pace and practically slid into the cave as Miss Peregrine hobbled alongside us, making a trail in the sand with her broken wing that was reminiscent of a snake track. We were finally hidden from the view of the blimps.

As soon as we dropped the boats, we all flopped down and leaned against them. ur breaths echoed around the damp walls, making it sound like there were twenty-four of us rather than twelve. Emma whispered a prayer that they hadn't seen us, voicing all our hopes.

"Our tracks!" Millard exclaimed then rose. I had only a couple seconds to look away before he stripped down and ran out, his overcoat in hand - I hadn't even noticed he'd been wearing it. I knew I was the only one who could see him, but I was still worried that he would get caught as he raced out to cover our tracks. It dawned on me that the trails the boats had made would be like arrows directing the pilots to where we were hiding.

Only a moment later Millard returned, his coat tied by the arms around his waist, his body coated in sand, and his wound undressed and re-opened. I stood up with a start - it looked infected, though that may have been all the sand that was slowly drying into the fresh blood. "They're closer now," he said. "I did what I could."

"Okay, but you're bleeding again!" I exclaimed as I made my way over, picking up the rest of his discarded clothes. As speedy as his recovery had been, it was still bad - though, being shot could have that effect. "Where's your bandage?" I handed his clothes back, but he pushed them away.

"I threw it away. It was tied in such a difficult manner that I couldn't remove it efficiently. An invisible must be able to disrobe as quickly as possible, or his power is useless," Millard said, a frown on his face. So, he was finally getting fed up with my peculiarity getting in the way of his, but I understood. He was supposed to be invisible, but it was kind of hard to use it to his advantage when he had to wear clothes all the time just for me. I guess it wouldn't have complicated things too much if we hadn't managed to fall in 'like' - a body was just a body, after all.

Emma stood and walked to my side. "Well, he's even more useless dead, isn't he?" she asked, then pressed two fingers into the palm of her other hand. After a moment of concentration, she took them away. The tips of her fingers were glowing like embers. "Now, this may hurt, but you need to stay still and not bite your tongue." She paused and turned to me. "Kallie, you may want to look away."

But as Emma pressed her fingers against Millard's wound, cutting off his objection, I found myself unable to do as she said. The sight and smell of burning skin were unbearable and Millard's face contorted with pain. Without delay, I turned and ran toward the wall of the cave, throwing up what little I'd eaten since the morning - sea water and two crackers from a rusty tin. Tears stung my eyes, but through them, I saw smoke curling from a new scar of Millard's torso and a still pained expression on Millard's face. I covered my mess with several handfuls of sand before standing once more and wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my sweater.

Emma sighed heavily as she walked away from Millard. "I told you to look away." I felt embarrassment wash over me just like that huge wave.

"I've got a scar!" Millard whined as I made my way back over to him and sat him down against a boat.

"Does it matter?" I grunted, my throat dry. "I'm the only one who can see it." He stayed quiet but took my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles in a comforting manner.

The engines of the zeppelins sounded nearer than before - they had come quite a bit closer in all the commotion. So close, that the low rumbling echoed off the cavern walls. We all stayed as quiet and still as possible, not even daring to breathe too loudly for fear that we would be caught. I held Millard's hand tighter, silently praying that we would survive. Claire and Olive quickly and quietly ran to Bronwyn and hid in her embrace. The whole cavern was silent, save for the steady whirring of the zeppelins, until the sound finally faded and I could hear Millard's shallow breaths beside me.

"Tell us a story, Wyn," Claire asked, her voice a small mumble. "I'm scared and tired and I don't like this at all and I would much rather listen to a story than sit in silence."

Olive chimed in looking up at Bronwyn. "Please, would you? Could you tell one from the Tales? I just love the Tales."

It was in that moment when I realized that Bronwyn was more like the mother of the children than Miss Peregrine herself. She was the one who tucked them in and kissed them goodnight, and it was she who helped them when they were hurt and read them stories. However, we all knew - save for Claire and Olive, I supposed - that this was not the time for a story, and Bronwyn said as much.

"But of course it is!" Enoch said, his voice filled sarcasm. "Why not the one about Miss Peregrine's wards, who found their way to safety with no help from a map or food to eat and didn't get eaten by hollowgast along the way! Oh, won't you tell us how that one ends, Wynnie?"

"If only Miss P could tell us," Claire said with a sniffle and a sigh, letting go of Bronwyn and making her way over to the bird in question, who happened to be sitting on the keel of an overturned boat. "Oh, what shall we do, headmistress? Please turn back. Please, just wake up!" 

All Miss Peregrine did in response was stroke Claire's hair. "We need you, Miss Peregrine! We're all lost and it's dangerous out there and we're all getting hungrier and hungrier! We've got no home and no other friends to turn to!" Olive wailed as she joined Claire, her cheeks streaked with tears, but her voice broke towards the end. "We need you." All the broken bird could do was turn away, her eyes shimmering with tears that - biologically - could never be shed.

"She can't change back just now, darlings. But we can get her all fixed up, good as new. I promise," Bronwyn said, kneeling by the girls and wrapping them once more in a hug.

"But how?" Olive asked, a frown on her face. Her question echoed off the walls, causing it to resonate through my head.

Emma rose, drawing everyone's attention to her. "I can tell you how," she began, sounding unbelievably confident. "We can walk and walk and walk until we come to a town."

"Yeah? And what if there's no town for fifty kilometers?" Enoch challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Then we'll walk for fifty-one kilometers. We can't have been blown too far off course."

"Say the wights spot us from the sky?" Hugh asked.

"We'll make sure they won't. We'll be careful and stay hidden."

"What if they're waiting for us in the town?" asked Horace.

"We can pretend to be normal, of course. We can pass."

Millard smirked a little. "Was never much good at that," he said with a short laugh. 

I rested a hand on his arm, then an idea came to my mind. "Need I remind you that only one person can see you, and that's me? You can scout ahead!"

"Yes!" Emma said with a smile, glad that someone was finally seeing her side of things. "And you can be our... secret procurer of necessary items."

"You mean our thief?" Millard asked, his smile growing. "Nevertheless, I have made a talented pick-pocket of myself. One might say I'm a veritable master of the five-fingered arts." He looked at me as he said that, the gleam in his eyes making me question if he was talking about more than just thievery.

"Alright, and then what?" Enoch muttered, sour as ever. "We won't be hungry and tired, but we'd still be out in the open, exposed and vulnerable and without a loop. And Miss Peregrine... is... she's still..."

Emma set her jaw, speaking with a confidence I never thought would be possible, given our position. "We will find a loop. If you know what you're looking for, it's easy to find one. And if there aren't any, we can find another peculiar and ask where the closest loop is. And in that loop, there will be an ymbryne that can help us change Miss Peregrine back."

Her steadfast optimism was almost annoying at that point, even though I knew it was what we all needed to keep the will to go on. I understood that we had to be hopeful that we would all make it out alive and well, but she was acting like we weren't going to fail at all, even though all odds said we would. Positive words weren't enough to drive positive feelings into me, that was for sure - I needed concrete evidence that we would all survive. Until I got that evidence I would continue on with a weary heart and worried mind.

"How can you be so sure?" Hugh asked, his bees flying from his mouth to make a floating, buzzing question mark.

"Because I am," Emma replied, and that was that.

"Well, that was all good and inspiring, but for all we know, Miss Peregrine could be the last uncaptured ymbryne," Millard said with a heavy sigh. "Need I remind you all what Miss Avocet said? The wights have been raiding loops and taking ymbrynes for weeks. Even if we do find a loop, how would we know whether or not it still has its ymbryne? We can't just go on with blind faith that there won't be wights waiting for us behind every loop entrance."

Enoch grunted. "Or the hope that we won't be surrounded by hollows."

"It won't be blind faith and we won't have to hope," Emma said, then cast a smile at Jake. "Jacob will tell us."

"Me?" he asked - I could see his body tense.

"Well, can you not sense hollows from a distance?" asked Emma. "In addition to seeing them, I mean."

Jake thought for a moment. "Well, I guess, sort of. When they're close, I get kind of nauseous." I cringed a little, suddenly reminded of the sight of Millard's singeing flesh not ten minutes ago.

"How close must they be?" Millard asked. "If it's only a few meters, we would still be at a disadvantage. You'd have to sense them from farther away. Much farther."

"I haven't really tested it yet. This is still so new, and I haven't really had the chance to try it out." Jacob replied, looking like he thought he was letting everyone down. After all, he'd only come across one hollow, and though he killed it, it nearly killed him first. In fact, he told me it was the same one who's killed his grandfather.

"Nevertheless, all talents can be developed," Millard said. "Take Kallie, for instance. Her eyes have become so adjusted to seeing ghosts that she can see other unseeable things. Namely, yours truly." He paused then, smiling when he noticed I was blushing. "All you need is time and... and exercise. Think of your peculiarity as a muscle, I suppose. The more you use it, the more it will strengthen."

It seemed Enoch had reached the end of his fuse. "Enough of this nonsense! Are you all so desperate that you're putting all your trust in him? He's only a boy! A normal, soft-bellied boy who knows next to nothing of our world. And so is she!" With that, he pointed an accusing finger in my direction.

"Don't be silly, Enoch," Emma said, coming to our defense. "They're as peculiar as the rest of us!"

"Hogwash!" Enoch was shouting now. "Just because they've got a splash of peculiar blood in their veins doesn't mean they're family. Don't think for a second I believe your little lie about seeing invisible things, Kallie. For all we know, that shoddy painting of Millard could have been something you thought up. And as for you," he turned to Jacob, "you probably couldn't tell the difference between a hollow at fifty meters and indigestion!"

I stood, balling my fists at his blatant idiocy, but Bronwyn spoke before I could throw a punch, which was good, as I'd never thrown a punch in my life. "Didn't Jacob kill a hollow, though? Stabbed it through the eyes with sheep shears! When was the last time you heard of a peculiar so young doing something like that?"

"Not since Abe," said Hugh. A blanket of silence fell over the children at the mention of his name.

"I heard he killed one with nothing but his bare hands," Bronwyn mused.

"I heard he once killed one with a knitting needle and a length of twine," Horace added. "In fact, I dreamed it, so I know he did."

Enoch scoffed. "Half those stories are tall tales that are only getting taller the more we tell them. The Abraham Portman I knew did nothing to help us."

"He was a brave peculiar!" Bronwyn objected. "He fought and killed scores of hollows for all our sakes!"

"Oh, sure, he did. Then he ran off and left us defenseless in that house while he pranced around America, acting like some sort of hero."

"He was more heroic than you could ever hope to be," Emma said, a hint of a growl in her voice. Of course - the topic of Abe was still a touchy one around her, given their history. "You don't even know what you're talking about, anyway. There was more to it than that." I sat back down next to Millard - I could see this argument no longer involved me. Of course, this all had a much more deeply rooted cause.

"That's beside the point," said Enoch with an annoyingly nonchalant shrug. "We need Abe, and this boy-" he cast a resentful glare at Jacob- "is not him."

As much as I hated to admit it, I could justify what Enoch was saying. After all, he'd only known us for two weeks, and it had only been a few days since Jacob had learned about his ability. I couldn't help but feel guilty. I had been living with my power my whole life, and the others had lived with theirs for what was worth a lifetime, and there he was, inexperienced and incapable of providing us the help we needed.

"You're right," Jacob said, finally cutting the tension that was slowly growing in the silence. "I'm not my grandfather. I'm just some kid from Florida. It was probably dumb luck that I killed that hollow."

"Nonsense, Jacob," Emma said, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. "One day, you'll be just a good a hollow-slayer as Abe was."

"One day soon, hopefully," muttered Hugh.

"It's what you were destined for," Horace said, the look on his face leading me to believe he knew more than what he was letting off.

Hugh turned to Jake and clapped him on the back. "Even if it ain't, though, you're all we've got." I shook my head.

"Well, if that's so, then bird help us all," Enoch said. I stood up again.

"Alright, that's it," I growled. "I'm sick and tired of your piss-poor attitude. You can stop complaining until you do something like Jake did. If there comes a time where we'll need hollow bait, you'll be the first one sent out. And if you die, I won't see your ghost, 'cause your soul will be going straight to Hell." I took a deep breath and realized I was mere inches away from Enoch's face. I stepped back and breathed deeply again. "I need some air." With that, I turned on my heel and left the cave, ignoring Jacob and Millard's objections.

\---

I sat to the left of the cave entrance, watching the waves roll into shore. I hardly paid attention to Jacob as he began walking down the beach, away from me and the cave. I looked back to the waves, watching the sky slowly fade from pale blue to lilac to a deep pink, growing darker and darker by the minute. I could tell that my mind was about to start wandering until I felt a presence next to me. I didn't have to look to know it was Millard, finally wearing his pants.

"Are you alright?" he asked after a moment. I didn't tear my gaze away from the ocean.

"I'm fine," I said, though my icy tone suggested otherwise.

"Your painting was amazing, by the way," he said, thinking back to what Enoch had said to insult my artwork, as well as trying to get me to speak more than two words. It worked, though not how he was expecting.

"Enoch doesn't seem to think so."

There was a brief pause before Millard spoke again. "Well, do you want to know what I think?" I remained silent, still staring at the waves. There was another short silence. "Enoch is a bloody rotten snake."

That finally caught my attention. I whipped my head to face him, my re-done ponytail nearly whipping my nose. "That was like 1940's style swearing!" I exclaimed, eyes wide as he nodded. "You said swearing was for the uneducated!"

"I would rather speak like an uncouth hoodlum than go without you talking to me," he replied, the smile on his face only lifting my spirit more.

"Oh, so I'm an uncouth hoodlum, now, am I?" I asked, smiling as well so he knew I was only joking.

"You know that's not what I meant. Besides, I got you to talk to me, didn't I?"

"I was talking to you."

"Complaints and two-worded phrases do not count as talking." I laughed at that, though I stopped almost immediately when a chilly breeze blew past, causing me to shiver. "Are you cold? Do you want me to fetch my coat?"

I shook my head, rubbing my arms to make my goosebumps disappear. "No, It's alright." I thought for a moment, then smiled a coy little smile. "I know a way we can both warm up."

"Well, Emma's gone to speak with Jacob, so... oh..." Millard finally noticed my face nearing his. 

In a matter of seconds, our lips met, warming me to the bone. Somehow I managed to crawl onto his lap, letting a hand trail down from where it was tangled in his hair until it rested on his new scar. He pulled back with a soft hiss and I dropped my hand to my side.

"Sorry, does it still hurt?" I asked, my voice hardly rising above a whisper.

"Only a little," he replied, then took my hand and guided it back to the scar. I raised my eyebrows and looked into his eyes - his gorgeous, amber-brown eyes - worried that I'd cause him pain. But as my fingers brushed against the newly formed scar tissue, all Millard did was close his eyes and take a breath. Before I could even think, his lips were back on mine. Until a loud crash came from the direction of the ocean.

I leaned back quickly at the startling noise and turned my head to see what it was. Another crash sounded, twice as loud as before, nearly drowning out the alarmed voices of the children still inside the cave. Millard and I stood, prepared to run, though his hand never left my wrist. Our fingers entwined as a bright light washed over us, and it finally registered in my mind. Rising from the depths of the ocean was a submarine, searchlights glaring and men shouting from open hatches.

Millard recovered from the shock before I did and dragged me back to the mouth of the cave, hiding us just inside the opening and hugging me to his chest. He dared a look outside, but from where I stood, I saw two figures running toward the cave as well - Jacob and Emma. Once they were finally back with us, shouting for everyone to get up and grab what they could, Millard let go of me. The first thing I did was run to Bronwyn's side - she was the only one who wasn't alert. In fact, she had fallen asleep, and even the noise from the submarine hadn't caused her to wake up. I wasn't the only one who thought to wake her, but after shaking her and shouting in her face, we had to lift her up ourselves. I was utterly relieved when her feet touched the ground fully, waking her up at last.

I was suddenly glad we had so few things left from our incident at sea, but I couldn't stop and be thankful for long. Emma was sure to scoop up Miss Peregrine in her arms, and without a second glance, we ran from the cave. I dared a look back to the submarine, only to see that several men were splashing through the water toward us, holding guns above their heads to keep them dry. We only ran faster.

Nobody cared that we ran directly into the quickly darkening forest, growing more ominous the longer night wore on. The moon was hidden by clouds and trees, leaving us with no guiding light and many small cuts and bruises across our faces and arms where twigs slapped against any bare skin they could. I nearly ran into a tree that seemed to appear out of nowhere. It was so dark, even I couldn't see Millard anymore.

We stopped several moments later, chests heaving and hearts racing. Those whose ears weren't ringing listened for any signs that they were following us. They were, to no one's surprise, but they we no longer alone. Mingling with the sounds of the men's voices was the barking of several dogs. We kept running. This would be a long night.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The peculiar children read a peculiar story with a peculiar secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lord, is this chapter late! I hope you all enjoy!

I stumbled over another branch, catching myself before I fell again. My knee was still bleeding from my first spill. And then came the ice-cold stream, which we waded through waist deep to hide our trail until our feet were numb. When we were through I could barely run. It felt like hours had passed before Horace finally tripped and just lay there, begging for a rest. Enoch demanded him to get, but he was wheezing, already leaning against a tree. He was relieved that we had finally stopped. We all were.

"It's no use trying to go anywhere, anyway. We could end up circling back on ourselves and ending up where we started," Emma decided, taking a deep breath between every few words. I slumped against a tree and checked my knee. Though I couldn't see it very well, I could feel that it had already scabbed over.

"Quite right," said Millard. "We'll be able to make better sense of the forest in the morning. Or noon, given how tired we all seem to be." He then disappeared behind a tree. A moment later he returned with pants on and sat down next to me. I hadn't noticed that he'd taken them with him.

Enoch grunted. "If we even live that long."

Rain began to fall. Fiona began whispering to the trees, willing them to form a leafy dome over us, just large enough that we could all sit underneath. The leaves were almost woven together to keep the rain out. As I sat against one of the trees, my head resting on Millard's good shoulder, I let the rain calm me. I was finally breathing steadily. The barking of dogs sounded father away, but each woof drove another pang of fear into my heart. What if they caught us?

Then Claire began to cry. It started out soft and innocent enough, but it grew louder and louder as she went on until both of her mouths were practically screaming and tears were streaming from her eyes. "Would you just be quiet?" Enoch hissed. "They could find us with all the ruckus you're making!"

"I can't help it! They're going to catch us and shoot us and feed us to their dogs!" she wailed, her explanation broken into chunks due to sobs that shook her whole body. Bronwyn wrapped the golden-haired girl in her arms, trying to shush her.

"Can't you think of something nicer, dear?" she asked. Claire sobbed again.

"I'm truh-trying!"

"Try harder, then!"

With that, Claire squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. I almost thought she would pass out until she burst into another round of sobs, this time louder and longer than before. Finally fed up, Enoch clapped his hands over both her mouths with a harsh shush!

"I'm suh-sorry," she sobbed, hugging her knees. "If I could hear a suh-story... perhaps from - from the tuh-Tales?"

Millard rolled his eyes. "Oh, not this nonsense again. I'm starting to wish we'd lost those damned books along with everything else." I began to trace invisible patterns on his arm, trying to calm him - and myself - down.

A squawk sounded suddenly, drawing all our attention to Miss Peregrine. She hopped onto Bronwyn's trunk and began tapping at one of the latches with her beak like she was trying to get it open. It seemed she agreed with Claire.

"I'm with Miss Peregrine," Enoch grumbled. "Anything to get her to stop crying."

Bronwyn sighed, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Oh, alright. I don't see why we can't listen to just one. So long as you promise to stop crying, alright?" Claire nodded, shutting her mouths and sniffling. She dared not to speak another word for fear that she may let out more sobs, so she stayed quiet as Bronwyn opened her trunk and pulled out the first volume of the Tales. 

"Here you are," Emma whispered as she moved to sit next to her friend and made a small flame appear atop one finger. Claire continued to whimper, even when Miss Peregrine hopped over and pulled open the book to a seemingly random chapter. With that, Bronwyn began to read.

"Once upon a peculiar time, in a forest deep and ancient, there lived many, many animals. There were rabbits and deer, foxes and bears, and other animals of a less common kind. There were stilt-legged grimbears and lynxes with two heads and talking emu-raffes. Hunters loved to prey on these peculiar animals more than any others, and would shoot them and mount them on walls to show off to their friends. They loved even more to sell them to zookeepers, who would lock them up in little cages and charge money to view them. Now, you may think being locked in a cage would be far better than being shot and mounted, but a peculiar animal must roam free to be happy, and after a while, the caged animals found themselves wishing to join their mounted friends."

Claire looked appalled. "This story is so sad. Can't you tell another?"

"Well, I like it," Enoch said. "Read more about the shooting and mounting." I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Bronwyn, however, ignored them.

"Now this was an age when giants still roamed the Earth," she continued, "as they did in the long-ago Aldinn times, though they were few and growing fewer. It just so happened that one of these giants lived by the forest. This giant spoke softly and ate only plants. His name was Cuthbert. One day, Cuthbert came into the forest to gather himself some berries, and there saw a man hunting an emu-raffe. As he was such a kind giant, Cuthbert took the emu-raffe by the scruff of its long neck, and, by standing at his fullest height on his tiptoes, which he seldom did because it made his bones crackle, Cuthbert was able to reach up very high and place the emu-raffe atop a mountain, far from harm. Then, for good measure, he squashed the hunter beneath his foot.

"After that, words of Cuthbert's kindness spread far and wide through the forest, and soon more and more peculiar animals came to him, asking to be lifted to the mountaintop, away from danger. So Cuthbert said, "I shall protect you, little ones, so long as you promise to talk to me and keep me company. There are few giants left in the world, and I am quite lonely." 

"And all the peculiar animals said, 'Of course, Cuthbert, we will.'

"So every day, Cuthbert ould save more peculiar animals from the hunters, lifting them the scruffs of their necks to the top of the mountain. Soon, there was a whole peculiar menagerie up there, and they were all happy because they could live in peace. So was Cuthbert, because if he stood on his tiptoes he could rest his chin atop the mountain and speak with his friends whenever he liked. Then one morning a witch came to see Cuthbert. He was bathing in a lake by the mountain where the peculiar animals lived, and she said to him, 'I am terribly sorry, but now I must turn you to stone.'

"'Why would you do such a thing?' asked Cuthbert. 'I am a friendly giant. I'm quite helpful.'

"And the witch said, 'You may be, but I was hired by the family of the hunter you squashed.'

"'Oh,' said Cuthbert. 'I forgot about him.'

"'Terribly sorry, dear,' the witch said again as she waved a magic birch branch and turned poor Cuthbert to stone.

"Suddenly Cuthbert felt himself go very heavy - so heavy, in fact, that he began to sink into the lake. He sank and sank and sank until the water was up to his neck. His animal friends saw what was happening from atop the mountain, and as terrible as they felt about it, they knew they could do nothing to help.

"'I know you can't save me,' called Cuthbert up to his friends, 'but the least you could do is come and speak with me! I am stuck here, now, and very lonely!'

"'But the hunters will catch us if we come down!' the animals called back.

"Cuthbert knew his friends were right, but he was still lonely and continued to plead with them.

"'Please, oh please, won't you come talk to me?' he cried. So the animals tried singing and shouting to poor Cuthbert from their safe haven atop the mountain, but they were too far away and their voices were so small that Cuthbert couldn't hear them. So Cuthbert kept calling up to them, begging for them to come down and talk, but they never did. He was still crying when his throat turned to stone, just like the rest of him. The end."

And then Bronwyn closed the book.

I felt - oddly, offended. "That's it?" asked Claire, both her mouths - probably - hanging open. Enoch laughed.

"That's all," Bronwyn confirmed as she put the book back.

"That was a horrible story. Can't you tell us another?"

Emma sighed, putting out her flame. "A story's a story, and now we must be off to sleep." Claire pouted, but she had stopped crying. There was no real need for another story.

"We need as mush rest as possible," Millard pointed out, his voice softer than usual due to his tired state. "Tomorrow's unlikely to be much easier than today was."

We gathered patches of moss, which Emma dried, to use as pillows. As we were lacking blankets, we figured it would be best to huddle together to stay warm through the night: Bronwyn cuddled Claire and Olive into her arms; Fiona practically burrowed into Hugh's embrace, whose bees flew in and out of his mouth as he snored; Enoch and Horace lay back to back, refusing to make any more contact; Emma and Jake lay comfortably together, leaving only me and Millard, which I was far from complaining about.

I curled into his side, my head in the crook of his neck, still tracing little patterns on the arm that wasn't wrapped around me. "I quite like that, you know," he whispered into my hair. I smiled as I continued what I was doing. "Really, though. Sometimes I..." he paused and took a deep breath. I looked up at him, but his eyes were staring at the wall of the other side of the room.

"What?" I asked sitting up a little as I began tracing the same little patterns of his bare chest. He took another breath before responding.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm not all here. I know I am, of course, but not being able to see myself... well, sometimes I need something to ground me." He looked at me and I felt my heart leap. "You are that something, Kallie. You ground me -" he took my hand and pushed it flat, right over his heart - "You make me feel normal. Like I can live a normal-" I didn't let him finish. Our lips met and anything he was going to say completely left his train of thought. 

I placed one hand gingerly on his cheek as he wrapped his other arm around my waist, and I didn't even care if anyone woke up. Only a few seconds later I leaned away from him, opening my eyes once more. There was a smile on his face that drove a new determination into me - I needed to survive, and I needed him to survive. I needed to make sure he lived the normal life he wanted. After all the time he spent on that island, he deserved it. All the children did.

\---

I was the last to wake up. Implying that I was the only one who slept the whole night. Claire had gotten sick - surprisingly enough, I hadn't, though I very much expected I would - which had resulted in Bronwyn, Olive, Emma, and Jacob to wake up and look after her. A bought of coughs had woken Hugh and Fiona not long ago, and Horace and Enoch awoke soon after. The last before myself was Millard, who was too worried about my injured head - which I had nearly forgotten about after all of last night's excitement - to wake me up before I was ready.

As we crawled out of our little den, I saw that the sun was only just beginning to rise. We were all muddy and still a bit cold, and as we tried to clean out the moss from our hair, I felt my stomach rumble. It was only then that I realized how hungry I was. I could only remember being that hungry once before - when my parents took me to a wilderness camp in the summer of sixth grade, and the councilors sent us off into the woods for a whole weekend to fend for ourselves while they hung out in the pool. That hunger I felt then was almost unmatched by the hunger I felt now, and I realized just how pampered I had been for my entire life. I could eat whenever I wanted back home, and as soon as I didn't have access to food I couldn't even last a day and a half. Some people only wished they could eat the sort of stuff I had access to, and it made me feel bad about taking my own food for granted.

On the positive side of things, the rain had stopped and the sun was slowly beginning to warm us. The wights and their dogs had either given up their search for us or were too far away for us to hear them and them to hear us. However, we had managed to get ourselves lost. I almost wished it was night again, because the forest looked no easier to navigate during the day. No matter where I turned, everything looked the exact same. The forest was wild and unruly and there was no sign of a path for as far as I could see - which, granted, wasn't very far at all.

Had Miss Peregrine's wing not been broken, she might have been able to fly above the trees and guide us, but it was, so she couldn't. Enoch suggested we send Olive up, but we had no rope and there was a chance she could float away with or without one. Claire was sick as ever, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead despite the fact that she was shivering vigorously. She was so skinny I could see each one of her ribs.

"Will she be alright?" Jake asked.

Bronwyn pressed a hand against Claire's cheek. "She's feverish. She'll need medicine."

"Well, first we'll have to find our way through this horrid forest," Millard pointed out.

"Can't we eat first?" Enoch whined. "Then we can discuss our options."

"What options?" asked Emma. "We'll pick a direction and walk until we find something. Any one is as good as another."

And so we sat and ate, trying to avoid the heavy feeling in our chests. What little we had could hardly be considered food - little brown squares of congealed meat fat - but we ate it, nonetheless. We had no utensils nor plates, save for our fingers and the palms of our hands.

"I can't believe I packed five salted game hens and three tins of foie gras with cornichons, and all that survives was this," Horace said bitterly, then to prove his distaste, he pinched his nose and dropped a particularly fatty cube of meat down his throat without chewing. "I think we're being punished."

"And why, exactly, would we need to be punished?" asked Emma. "We've all been perfect angels. Well, almost all of us."

"Oh, I don't know! The sins of our past lives, perhaps?"

Millard frowned. "Don't be silly. Peculiars don't have past lives. We live them all at once." Then nothing more was said on the matter. 

We finished our meager meal and buried our empty tins before getting up. Just as we were about to leave, Hugh burst through the bushes with a circle of bees surrounding him. He seemed excited about something, and I was itching to know what.

"Where have you been?" Enoch asked with a scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I was attending to my morning business, as one must," Hugh began, "and I found-"

"And who gave you permission to leave our visual range? We almost left without you!"

"Who said I needed to ask permission? Anyway, I-"

"Well, you can't just wander off! You could have gotten lost."

"We're already lost, in case you haven't noticed. Besides, I wouldn't have, I -" Enoch was about to interject again but Millard slammed a hand over his mouth. It must have looked odd to the others - an invisible hand over a very visible mouth. "Like I was saying, I left a trail off bees, like always. Now, onto what I've been trying to tell you. I saw water, and lots of it, just beyond those trees!"

Emma frowned. "We wanted to get away from the ocean, not back toward it. We must have doubled back during the night." 

Regardless, we all followed Hugh back the way he'd come. Bronwyn took Claire in her arms and Miss Peregrine hopped onto her shoulder. I had begun to limp - it seemed with all the adrenaline pumping action of the previous night, I hadn't noticed that I'd twisted my ankle. Fortunately, only moments and near a hundred yards later, we caught a glimpse of gray ripples of water through the trees.

"Bloody brilliant," Horace groaned. "We're right back where we started. They've chased us back into their arms."

"Well, I don't hear soldiers," said Emma, tilting her head. "Actually, I don't hear anything. Not even the ocean."

"That's because it isn't the ocean, dimwit," Enoch said before running off toward the water. When we caught up to him, Enoch was standing, facing us, in wet sand. He gave us a look that plainly read I-told-you-so, which he had - behind him was a large, gray, mist-covered lake, ringed with fir trees. 

There was barely a ripple on its mirror-like surface. And there, in the shallows of the lake, was a large rock formation jutting from the murky depths. At first, I couldn't place what was so striking about it, but then Claire spoke. "It's the giant from the Tales! It's Cuthbert!"

"Hush, dear, you've got a fever," Bronwyn murmured to the feverish girl, stroking her golden curls away from her face.

"Don't be stupid, it's just a rock," Enoch scoffed, rolling his eyes, but it wasn't 'just a rock'.

Indeed, if one looked at the large rock the right way - despite the severe weathering it had gone through - it looked like a giant who'd sunk to his neck in the lake. It was plain to see its head and neck and nose, even its Adam's apple. Scraggly trees sprouted atop the rock like wild, tangled hair. The eeriest thing about this phenomenon, however, was the way its head seemed to be thrown back and its mouth open as if it was calling up to its friends on the mountain top as it turned to stone, just like the giant we had read about last night.

"Oh, and look!" cried Olive, recapturing our attention. "That must be Cuthbert's mountain!" We all looked in the direction she was pointing, and lo and behold, there was a large rocky ridge not too far off.

"So giants are real! And so are the Tales!" Claire said happily, too weak to show much more enthusiasm than a smile.

"Oh, let's not jump to ridiculous conclusions, now," said Enoch as he crossed his arms. "What seems more likely: an author stumbled upon this rock - which just happens to look like a giant head - and writes a story about it, or this head-shaped rock really was a giant?"

Olive frowned. "You're no fun at all. I believe, even if you don't."

"The Tales are just that - tales. Nothing more." Enoch grumbled. Oddly enough, Jacob chuckled a little.

"It's funny you should say that," he began. "For the longest time, I thought the same about all of you."

"You're so silly, Jacob. You thought we were made up?" Olive asked with a little laugh.

Jacob rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, yeah. Until I met Kallie and she told me my grandpa was telling the truth, I never really believed. Even after meeting you, I still felt like I was crazy sometimes."

"I'm not going to lie," I added, "over these past couple weeks, I've found myself wondering if this is all a dream." I paused and looked around at everyone then rested my gaze on Millard, who was standing right next to me. "Most of the time, I'm glad it's not."

"Well, whether it's real or not, it's a most remarkable coincidence," said Millard, taking my hand. "To have been reading that story last night, and then happening upon the very spot of its origin the very next morning? What are the odds?"

Emma's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't think it was just a coincidence. Miss Peregrine opened to book herself. Perhaps she chose that story on purpose?"

Bronwyn turned to the falcon, who was still resting on her shoulder. "Is that so, Miss P?" All she did was ruffle her feathers.

"It must mean something," Emma mused, looking back at the large rock.

"Of course it does," said Enoch. "It means we've got to climb that bluff and find a way out of this damned forest!" 

Emma sighed, clearly exasperated. "I mean the story means something. What was it the giant wanted? What did he ask for over and over and never got?"

"He wanted someone to talk to!" Olive answered, nearly bouncing with excitement.

"Precisely, so if he wants to talk, let's hear what he's got to say." With that, Emma made her way into the lake. We all watched her go, a little bit concerned and a little bit confused.

"Where does she think she's going?" Millard asked Jacob, squeezing my hand a little. All Jake could do was shake his head.

Enoch took a step forward and cupped his hands around his mouth. "We're lost and we've got wights after us! This is no time for a light swim!"

"I'm thinking peculiarly!" Emma shouted as she waded through the shallows up to the giant head. Before any of us could advise otherwise, she began climbing up to its jaw and took a look into its mouth.

"So, what can you see?" called Jacob.

"Can't tell!" came her response. "It looks like it goes down pretty deep. I think I need a closer look."

As Emma heaved herself into the large mouth, Horace began nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another. "You'd better get down! You're making us all anxious."

"Oh, everything makes you anxious," said Hugh, momentarily tearing his gaze away from Emma, who picked up a loose stone and tossed it into the giant's maw.

"I think it could be a..." Emma stopped, startled as her foot slipped on some loose gravel and she nearly went tumbling in, catching herself just before she did.

"Be careful!" Jacob cried. "Wait, I'm coming!" And he, too, went into the lake.

Enoch rolled his eyes. "You think it could be what?"

"There's only one way to be sure!" Emma said vaguely, excitement putting a smile on her face as she climbed deeper into the giant's mouth.

"Oh, Lord, there she goes," Horace murmured.

"Wait!" Jacob shouted as she reached the large rock, but it was too late. Emma had already disappeared down the giant's throat.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children meet some peculiars of a different kind . . .

I trudged through the shallows towards the rock, my twisted ankle still hurting. I slipped in the mud, but Millard grabbed my arm and steadied me before I could fall in. The others were in front of us. Bronwyn was already beginning to climb the giant rock, so Fiona was holding Claire instead. Only Enoch was behind us, reluctant that we had even left the shore.

"Hello down there! I can hear you! What did you find?" I heard Bronwyn call into the giant's mouth, trying to get a response from Emma and Jacob - who had leaped in after the pretty blonde. As Bronwyn spoke with them, the rest of us pooled at the base of the rock, not daring to go any further until we knew it was safe.

"I hope they're alright," I whispered. Enoch looked like he was about to make a smart remark but Bronwyn turned to face us all.

"Emma says it could be a loop. We've got to jump in and not be afraid," she explained, and my stomach turned. The thought of having to swim underwater made me feel sick - the only reason I could do it a few nights ago was because the adrenaline levels in my body were almost surreal. Also, I hadn't nearly died underwater at that point. But it had to be done, so I waited as, one by one, the rest of the children climbed up and dove into the giant's mouth.

Bronwyn went first, then Claire, Miss Peregrine, and Fiona, then Hugh, Horace, Olive, until Enoch pushed my shoulder. "Well? Get a move on," he grunted, clearly impatient. Millard took my hand and squeezed it before I started climbing up the - literal - face of the rock.

Once I reached the top, I gazed into the water pooled in the giant's mouth and caught sight of a small figure swimming below. I took a deep breath and jumped in pencil-dive style before Enoch could threaten to push me in. I waded around in the water for a second before looking down again. I noticed an area of water that seemed lighter than the rest and dove down, keeping my eyes open despite the stinging water.

I somehow managed to swim through a tunnel about ten feet long. The water grew significantly warmer and the sky above me seemed brighter and I could see my friends' legs kicking around. Just when I felt like my lungs were about to burst, I broke the surface of the water. I took a heaving breath - I must have broken my forty-second breath-holding record. I was suddenly startled by a pair of arms wrapping around my waist and spinning me in a circle in the water - of course, it was Millard.

"Do you know what this means?" he asked excitedly, a bright light shining in his brown eyes. "There's secret knowledge of time loops hidden within the Tales!" He let go of me and started splashing around, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"And you said they were useless," Olive said with a smug smile on her face. 

Millard only ignored her. "Oh, I'm just itching to begin analyzing and annotating them!" he continued, rubbing his hands together.

"Don't you even think about touching my book, Millard Nullings!" Bronwyn said, her eyes narrowed.

"But what's this loop for?" Horace asked, changing the subject. "Who could live here?"

"The peculiar animals from the book, of course!" Olive chirped, her everlasting positivity broadening my smile. Enoch made no attempt to hide the fact that he was rolling his eyes, but he refrained from sending back a bitter retort.

Emma frowned, thinking. "Well, every loop has an ymbryne, including the ones from peculiar stories. So we've got to find her."

"But where?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, the only other place mentioned in the story was that mountain," Emma answered, pointing in the direction of a rocky bluff not too far away. "Who's up for some climbing?"

\---

We trudged through the woods, dripping with every step and slowly drying under the warm sun none of us were used to anymore. We were all hungry and tired, but the discovery of the loop drove a new energy into us I could only hope would last us to the top of the mountain. As we neared the mountain's face, a well-worn path appeared and the ground began sloping upward, reminiscent of the wave that had nearly sent me to my death the day before. The trees grew sparse and the shrubbery grew prickly, and before too long we had to start crawling on all fours just to keep moving forward.

When the path grew less steep once again, Horace reached up to wipe his sweat-soaked forehead.

"Oh, I do hope something wonderful will be waiting for us at the end of this godforsaken trail," he complained, voicing my thought until he spoke again. "Gentlemen do not perspire."

The path suddenly narrowed, and from what I could see, it would around the mountain like a ribbon. The only way was forward - above us to the right was an insurmountable incline and below us, a break-neck drop. I dared not look over the edge for fear of losing my balance - or my lunch. Emma ordered us to hug the wall, which I had no issue with doing.

As we half-walked-half-shimmied up the path, I felt a hand grasp mine - Millard, no doubt. How was it that he always knew what I needed to be reassured? I squeezed his hand, not daring to speak for fear of my own vocal chords betraying me with a yelp. I seemed I would have yelped no matter what, however, as my foot slipped and the sharp sound escaped from my lips. Everyone stopped while Millard - and Horace, who was on my other side - helped me regain my footing.

A few steps. A quick turn. A few more steps. Another turn. Whispers between Emma and Jacob. Another turn. Horace stopped. I dared a look around him only to see that Jacob was sitting down in the middle of the path. Only Emma, Bronwyn, Claire, and Miss Peregrine were in front of him.

"Oh," Hugh said - to no one in particular - with an exasperated sigh. "It seems Jacob's cracking up."

"I can't help it," came Jake's response, his voice cracking a little. "I don't know what's wrong." I realized, in that moment, that I had never asked if Jake had a fear of heights. Millard and I shared a look, but all I could do was shrug. I looked back around Horace, only to see Jacob peering over the edge of the abyss.

"Jake," I finally spoke. "Are you alright?" he ignored me. He ignored all of us - naturally, the others were asking similar questions. Instead, he got even closer to the edge and I felt my stomach flip - what the hell was he doing?

We all waited for him to respond or react or just say something, but he remained silent. I took a step forward - never letting go of Millard's hand - and looked over the edge as well. It took me a few seconds to notice, but far down below, there seemed to be heat waves, causing the trees below to ripple only slightly, like there was some sort of negative space occupying the area the waves were in. The negative space grew slightly bigger each second I looked. I didn't need Jacob's power to know what it was. I backed up against the rocky wall once more.

"Hollow," I gasped, my voice hardly above a whisper. "Hollow!" this time I shouted.

"Run!" someone else cried, but I could hear my own blood pumping, the sound of each pulse not allowing me to discern who shouted. Jacob scrambled backward and Emma helped him stand, finally allowing us to get moving.

I wasn't sure how we managed to keep ourselves from falling, though perhaps it was the fear of imminent death; if the fall didn't kill us, surely the hollowgast would. We continued up the mountain, hoping we would create enough distance between us and the hollow that we could reach our destination - though none of us knew what that was - before it could catch up with us. We couldn't go back, as that would only give the hollow easier access to an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I was too terrified to ask Jake where the hollow was, but I supposed we all were. It didn't matter where the hollow was, anyway. No matter what, it would be after us. My heart was pounding in my ears and all I could focus on was Horace's top hat - the only intimation that I hadn't fallen behind. My head wound was throbbing, which was a shame, as I'd nearly forgotten about it.

We rounded another corner, only to be met with a nearly unblemished wall of rock. It couldn't have been less that fifty feet high. There was no way we could climb it even if there were the proper footholds - we were all spent. Those at the front of our little group searched for some way to get up the sheer sheet of rock, but there seemed to be nothing - no door, no tunnel, no secret passage - in sight.

And so we all broke into a cacophony of panic. My breathing pattern remained at its accelerated state, due to my adamant feelings of panic and terror. Miss Peregrine began to screech and Claire chorused with wails from both her mouths. "We're going to die!" Horace cried. Fiona began searching, to no avail, along the face of the rock for a crevice containing soil or a tiny shrub - anything she could grow a vine from. Hugh looked over the edge once more - it took several steps, as the path had widened significantly, thank god.

"We could jump down if we only had a parachute," he suggested.

"I'm like a parachute! Grab ahold of my legs!" Olive offered, winning a frown from Bronwyn.

"Dear, it's dark and dangerous down there," the strong-girl reasoned. "It would be best if you went up the mountain rather than down. Give me your shoes and take Claire and Miss P up as fast as you can, all right?"

Olive looked worried. "I don't think I can. What if I'm not strong enough?"

"Can't you try, little magpie? You're the only one of us who can keep them out of harm's way." As she spoke, Bronwyn set Claire to her feet and led both girls to the face of the rock. As soon as Bronwyn let go of Claire, she crumpled into Olive's grasp. If it hadn't been for Olive's leaden shoes, the feverish girl might have knocked her over. Olive nodded once, a look of determination gracing her face as Bronwyn set Miss Peregrine on her head. With that, she slipped off her shoes and the three of them were off.

They rose slowly, and I grew anxious when I noticed how Jake kept looking over his shoulder - was he checking to see if we were all still here, or was he wary of the monster growing closer? A yelp brought my attention back to Olive. Miss Peregrine had grabbed her hair and was flapping her good wing, increasing their speed. I hoped they would find something up there to help us.

Back on the ground, we all set about looking for weapons to use against the hollow. Of course, all we could find were pebbles, and my idea of creating a sling-shot was quickly shot down - there was no way it would do much to harm the hollowgast.

"I could be a weapon," offered Emma as she clapped her hands together, a ball of fire coming to life as she brought them apart once more.

"As can my bees," added Hugh, allowing a few of them to be released as he spoke. "They can be fierce if provoked."

Enoch let out a loud snort. "And what, pollinate the hollow into submission?" Hugh merely ignored the dead-riser and instead turned to Jake.

"Really, though. You can be our eyes, Jacob. Just tell us where it is and we'll sting it to death."

We all looked to Jacob, waiting for his orders. He seemed to know exactly where the hollow was. "Any minute now," he said, pointing in the direction we'd just come from. "Be ready." I could feel my heartbeat pick up again, racing as it had before. Its thump-thump, thump-thump was an incessant drone in my head. I got into a position I'd seen Olympic sprinters stand in just before a race, though I had no clue where I'd even run to, given the chance.

"What a terrible end to our journey," Horace said. "Eaten by a hollowgast in some ancient Welsh loop."

"Wait," said Enoch, grasping our attention. "I thought hollows couldn't enter loops?"

"Perhaps they've evolved," Millard suggested.

Emma sighed. "It doesn't matter how it happened. It's here now, and it's looking for a meal!" Millard took my hand at her words, and we exchanged a look. It could have been the last time we saw each other. And then a tiny voice called up from above - for a moment, I thought it was an angel.

"Look out below!" I looked up at the top of the cliff behind us, only to see Olive's face disappear behind the ledge. It was quickly replaced, however, by a long rope being tossed down. It began to unravel as it tumbled down, pulling taught into the form of a net just as the bottom grazed the ground. "Hurry! There's a lever up here - grab on and I'll pull it!"

And so we ran to the net, our hopes falling once we realized it was hardly large enough to carry two of us. Pinned to the rope was a photograph of a man in the very same net. Jake turned it over and read aloud, "Only access to menagerie: climb in. Weight limit: one rider. Strictly enforced."

My stomach turned. There was no way this ancient, elevator-esque contraption could carry all nine of us at once. Alas, there was no way we could take turns, so we all piled in, sticking our arms and legs through the fraying holes. We gripped ahold of any rope we could manage, though somewhere in the tangle of limbs, Millard's hand managed to find mine. I began to wonder why he was so incessant on maintaining contact, but then I recalled what he'd told me the night before - sometimes he needed something to make him feel like he was there.

"Okay, bring us up!" Jacob shouted. Nothing happened for several seconds, and I was half expecting the rope to snap. Then there came a loud, metallic squeal and we lurched upwards. Before too long, we were about halfway up. Then I saw the familiar 'heat waves'.

"Jake," I warned, but he'd already seen it. I looked back what seemed to be negative space and wondered, only for a few seconds, if that was how the others saw Millard. Then I wondered for another second why I couldn't see the hollow. After all, I could see other invisible things, so why not the hollowgast?

In my moment of distraction, I'd nearly missed Jake's orders. "It's about to jump, so lift up your legs!" We all did, bumping our knees and feet together. I thought we were safe, but then Emma screamed and began kicking her leg wildly. The net stopped moving - the pulley was too weak to carry the nine of us and the hollow, which had latched onto Emma's leg.

"Get it off me, oh, please, just get it off!" she cried, and Jake began kicking, too. He was the only one who could help in any way, otherwise I would have tried, too. I gagged as the hollow's stench filled my nose, muddling my senses and turning my stomach once more.

Emma demanded that someone grab ahold of her. From what I could see, Jake grabbed her dress and Bronwyn let go of the net with her hands, hanging on my only her feet so she could keep Emma steady by her waist. I felt the net bounce - Emma must have let go. I twisted around to get a better view - and to keep my own legs from the hollow's grasp - and watched as Emma reached down and clapped her hands around what I assumed was the hollow's tentacle.

An ear-splitting howl rang through my skull - the hollow's cry of pain, no doubt. I saw a small pillar of smoke rise from her hands and the smell of burned flesh muddled with the acrid miasma of the hollow. Emma gripped the tentacle harder and let out a loud cry - both tortured and proud. Even when the hollow was crying out and shaking the next back and forth, probably trying to get Emma to release her grip, she ignored it. And then we began shouting at her to let go, and finally she remembered what seemed to be going on. I heard a thump as the hollow hit the ground and a wave of relief crashed over me.

We shot upwards once more as soon at the hollowgast dropped, sending my heart into my throat and my stomach into one of my lungs. We were going so fast, in fact, that we soared right over the edge of the cliff and landed in a jumbled heap at the top. Olive, Claire, and Miss Peregrine were waiting for us. The levitating girl was cheering happily and Miss Peregrine let out a proud cry as she flapped her good wing. Even Claire raised her head off the ground for a second and offered up a tired smile.

I crawled out of the net and away from the steep drop before flopping over onto my back, finally allowed to catch my breath. Millard stumbled over to me and helped me up, hugging me tightly and planting a lazy kiss on my jaw. "We made it," was all I could manage to say, but it was enough.

We stepped away from each other and looked around at everyone else. "That's twice you've saved us, magpie," Bronwyn was saying to Olive. "And Miss Emma, that was the bravest thing I've ever seen you do, and I've seen you do a lot of brave things."

"Well, one of us had to go, and I wasn't about to let that be me," she said with a shrug.

"I just can't believe you touched the wretched thing," said Horace, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

Emma set to wiping her hands on her dress and then sniffed them, pulling them away from her face almost immediately. "I just hope this smell will go away sometime soon. That beast was, by far, the worst thing I've ever smelled."

"How's your ankle feeling?" Jacob asked her. Before responding, Emma rolled down her sock to reveal a large red welt that looked like a bad burn - probably similar to the hollow's new wound, I supposed.

"Oh, not bad," she replied before standing as well. She let out a hiss of pain as soon as she tried putting weight on her injured foot. "I'll be fine."

"Some help you were, nearly getting her eaten. 'Run away!' says the hollow slayer's grandson. Just brilliant," came Enoch's sarcastic comment. I was nearly anticipating it at that point. No matter what Jacob did, it was never good enough for the dead-riser.

Jacob turned to face Enoch, a frown on his face. "Well maybe if my grandfather had run from the hollow that killed him, he'd still be alive." It looked like he was about to say something else when a quiet thud sounded. Jacob dared another peek over the ledge, his expression troubled. "Bad news, guys. It's still alive."

I joined him at the ledge, and so did Emma and Millard. "What's it doing?" asked Emma. We waited for Jake's response.

"It's making holes in the wall so it can climb up here," he explained. "God, it's like the Terminator."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that, earning strange glances from Millard and Emma. "Pardon me?" the blonde asked, but I only shook my head. There was no use trying to explain it to them. Besides, the Terminator was fiction, and the hollowgast was far too real.

"We've ought to stop it!" Olive cried.

"Or, you know, run," said Horace.

Enoch groaned. "Can we stop with the running and just kill the damned thing instead?"

"Sure, but how?" asked Emma.

"Has anyone got a vat of boiling oil?" he suggested, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"How about this?" Bronwyn broke into the conversation, drawing our attention over to her. She was holding a large boulder over her head.

Jake thought for a couple seconds. "Maybe," he said. "How's your aim? I need you to drop it where I tell you to."

"I can try," she responded, then began making her way to the edge of the cliff. Millard and I backed away, allowing more room for Bronwyn to maneuver the boulder.

"This way," Jacob said, pointing to their left as they peered over the side. He looked like he was about to tell her to drop it before he let out a frustrated sigh - the hollow must have moved. I looked around, hoping to find something else that could work if the boulder didn't work, but there were no more. They only had one chance.

"Come on, come on, come on," I began whispering as if it would make everything go well. Thud after thud sounded as the hollowgast made its way up the cliff, unseen by all but Jacob. Millard took my hand and I began tracing little patterns on his shoulder to calm myself down.

Bronwyn was growing tired and impatient. "Hurry up, Jacob, please. I can't keep this up for very much longer," she pleaded. Jake sent her a ghost of a nod.

"There!" he shouted, pointing just right of where Bronwyn was standing. She repositioned the boulder before dropping it, letting out a relieved groan as she did. There was a terrible crash as the hollow and the boulder hit the ground. "Direct hit!" cried Jacob. The hollow was dead.

"It's dead! The hollow's dead! Oh, joy!" Olive cried as we all gathered around Jacob, still almost dangerously close to the edge. Bronwyn gave him a hug. Emma kissed the top of his head. Horace and Hugh took turns shaking his hand as Millard patted him on the back. I, too, hugged him, glad my best friend hadn't died.

"Good job," Enoch said as Fiona rested a gentle hand on Jake's shoulder. "But you're still not all that."

As we began walking away from the cliff, I noticed the path that had ended so abruptly below carried on at the top of the wall. "The sign attached to the net said Access to Menagerie. Do you think that might be what's at the end of this path?" Horace asked.

"You're the one who sees visions of the future. Shouldn't you know?" said Enoch, his usual bitterness in his voice. Horace only sniffed distastefully in response.

"Pardon my asking, but what's a menagerie?" asked Olive.

"It's a collection of various animals, like a sort of zoo," Emma explained

A smile lit up Olive's face and she clapped gleefully. "They're Cuthbert's friends, then! I just can't wait to meet them. You don't suppose the ymbryne lives with them?"

"I think it's best not to suppose anything at this point," Millard said. And that was that.

We continued on in silence, each of us thinking of everything that had happened. It seemed Jacob's peculiarity was growing, just as mine had. I thought back to how odd it was that, while I could see ghosts and invisible people, I couldn't see the hollows. I recalled what Miss Peregrine had said to Jake and me only last week. 'Hollowgast', by definition, meant 'hollow soul', or 'no soul'. While humans had souls and so did ghosts, the hollows did not. Perhaps that was the explanation: I could see anything, so long as it had a soul.

"Oh! A house in the clouds!" shouted Bronwyn, ripping my attention away from my thoughts. We were nearly halfway up the hill, it seemed, and it was growing chillier with each step. There, just up ahead, was a house that seemed to be balanced perfectly upon a group of thick clouds. We quickened our pace, a new curiosity driving energy into our bodies.

As we crested the ridge the clouds parted, revealing the house and what it was really perched upon - a tower of stacked railroad ties. The house and its tower were in the exact center of a grassy plain. It was the most peculiar thing I'd seen all day, surpassing only the heat wave-esque invisibility of the hollowgast and the giant rock head in the lake. I was so focused on the tower, in fact, that I hardly noticed the several, smaller but similar houses dotting the plateau.

"What is that thing?" whispered Jake.

"A lookout tower?" Emma suggested, though it didn't seem too likely.

"A place for airplane launches?" guess Hugh. That seemed even less likely than Emma's idea, as there were no airplanes in sight and no sign of a landing strip.

Millard clenched his jaw. "Perhaps it could be a place for zeppelin launches," he said, and I remembered the blimps that had hunted us on the beach. If this was the place where they had come from, we had stumbled right into the arms of the wights.

"Or," Olive began with a small sigh, "it could be the ymbryne's house. Why must you lot always be so negative?" I smiled at the little brunette, happy that she was letting herself remain undaunted by all the terrible things we'd faced.

"Olive's probably right. There's nothing to fear here," said Hugh. As if something refused to let us believe that, a loud growl came from the shadows beneath the tower.

"What was that?" I asked, turning to Jake for clarification.

He shook his head and shrugged. "Not a hollow, that's for sure."

"Well, I have no desire to know," said Horace as he took a few steps back. It didn't matter whether or not we wanted to see what it was, however, because it wanted to see us.

Once again, the thing growled, and after a few more seconds, a furry face peeked out from between two of the railroad ties near the bottom. It snarled at us, as if it was some sort of hostile rottweiler, showing off its sharp teeth, dripping with saliva.

"What in bird's name is that?" asked Emma, her voice hushed in case the thing could understand what she said.

"My, what a wonderful idea it was to come into this loop. It's going quite swimmingly, wouldn't you say?" Enoch commented, sarcastic as ever.

The thing crawled out of its hiding place and into the sunlight. It moved as if it was an ape, though it appeared more human than anything. It peered at us from under its wild nest of hair, dressed in all rags and reminding me of a crudely portrayed neanderthal. Its teeth and eyes were a similar dull yellow to my favorite floral dress back home.

"Make it stop looking at me! Kill it!" Horace cried. Bronwyn set Claire back on the ground and got into a fighting position. Emma raised her hands to use her fire as a weapon, but could only form a spark and a small cloud of smoke. The man-ape - or ape-man? - tensed at the bright flash and let out a low growl before it scampered around us and dove behind a pile of rocks. He popped back up only a few seconds later, a fang-filled grin on its face that made me uncomfortable.

I was sure it was going to charge at us when a voice behind it shouted, "Sit down and behave!" To everyone's relief, the thing obeyed and relaxed, settling onto its hindquarters as its tongue dangled from its mouth, reminding me of a tired out dog. 

As if some omniscient being had read my mind, a dog came into view, calmly making its way towards our group. I searched for who might have spoken, though it was in vain, as there was no sign of anyone else. Just as I was about to ask who spoke, the dog opened its mouth and spoke. "Don't mind Grunt. He's a boorish one. He's only thanking you, by the way. That hollowgast was beyond vexing." 

I could only blink, so surprised that I couldn't begin to think of what to say to a talking dog. His voice, sophisticated and innately British, sounded like it should have been coming from a human mouth - though I supposed that was how talking animals were meant to sound. From his mouth dangled a pipe and, adding to his oddness, a pair of green-tinted glasses were placed over his eyes. 

"He means not to offend, of course," the dog continued, misreading our silence. "Grunt means well, but he was raised in a barn - quite literally, might I add. On the contrary, I was raised and educated on a grand estate, the seventh pup of the seventh pup in an eminent line of hunting dogs." And then, as if none of what was going on was strange enough, the dog bowed to the best of his abilities, his nose gently grazing the ground. "Addison MacHenry, at your service."

"That's a flashy name for a dog," said Enoch, and I rolled my eyes. This was a talking dog - did he really expect a name like 'Spot' or 'Fluffy'?

Addison looked at Enoch over his glasses with distaste. "And what, pardon my asking, is the appellation to which you've been entitled?"

"Enoch O'Connor," came Enoch's smug response as he stuck his chest out with pride.

"That's a flashy name for a grimy, pudge-faced boy," Addison replied, mocking Enoch's former tone. Then he rose onto his hind legs, reaching almost the same height as Enoch himself. "Indeed, I am a dog, but a peculiar one. Why should I have anything but a peculiar name? My former master had called me 'Boxie' - a dreadful name, and quite insulting to my dignity, at that! - so I bit his face and took his name as my own. 'Addison' is a much better display of my cognitive prowess, in my opinion. Naturally, just after that happened, Miss Wren discovered me and in turn brought me here."

At the mention of the Miss Wren's name, the spark of hope in our hearts grew into a small flame. Perhaps there was still a chance we could get Miss Peregrine back to normal!

"Miss Wren brought you here?" asked Olive, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "What about Cuthbert?"

Addison tilted his head, finally showing some semblance to a normal dog. "I'm sorry, who?" he shook his head, then remembered what Olive was talking about. "Oh, of course, the story. My apologies, small one, but that's all it was - a story, created ages ago upon the discovery of that oddly shaped rock and Miss Wren's menagerie of peculiar animals." Olive's face fell, but Millard's brightened.

"I told you so," Enoch muttered to the little brunette.

"Where is Miss Wren? We need to speak with her urgently," said Emma. Addison gazed up at the house at the top of the tower.

"That there is her residence, but I'm afraid that she's not in at the moment. Several days ago she flew off to London to help some of her fellow ymbrynes. There's a war, see, though I assume you've heard of it. It would explain why you lot are traveling about like a fraternity of beggars."

Emma nodded. "Our loop was raided and we lost all of our belongs at sea."

"And nearly ourselves," added Millard, resting a hand on the small of my back. "How is your head, by the way?" he asked me.

"I'm fine, I promise," I replied, meeting his gaze and granting him a small smile.

"Well, fancy that; an invisible! A lovely surprise, and a rare one, too. And two Americans, as well," he added, looking at first me then Jacob. "You lot certainly are peculiar, even for peculiars." At last he returned to all fours and turned toward the tower. "Come along, now. I must introduce you to the others. You must be starving after such a journey, poor things. Nutrifying provender shall be forthcoming!"

Bronwyn took Claire back into her arms, finally at ease with Grunt the man-ape. "We'll need some medicine, too. This little one is terribly ill."

"We'll do everything in our power, I can promise you that," Addison said warmly, and if dogs could smile, I was sure he would have been. "We owe you that tenfold after what you did, solving our hollowgast problem and all. Beyond vexing, as I was saying."

"Nutrifying what?" Olive asked, looking up at Emma.

"Sustenance, rations, refreshments - you'll eat like royalty, I guarantee," Addison replied.

"But I don't quite like dog food," said Olive, trying her damnedest to be polite but to-the-point.

Addison let out a surprisingly human-sounding laugh. "Nor do I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 24, 2016, 12:34 PM
> 
> Hello all! I've decided I'd start doing author's notes at the end of each chapter. I want to interact more with you, my readers, and keep you up to date with both this book and occasionally things in my personal life (though not too personal). Feel free to skip over this section if you like, but I'd very much appreciate it if you didn't, in case you miss some vital information.
> 
> Now, first of all, I will (try to) update this book every Saturday. This may, however, become difficult, as seen by the fact that this chapter is long overdue and I have a fairly demanding job.
> 
> Secondly, I'm slowly but surely editing the first book, so any mistakes you find will be gone by the end of the year. 
> 
> Another thing I'm doing, though this will take a lot longer than the editing, is compiling a track list for this trilogy! I'll be putting it in the final chapter of book three (which, yes, already has a name and title, though I won't be revealing either until later).
> 
> So, let me know what you think of both my story and the new author's notes idea! I'd love to hear from you all, and I promise I'll try to respond from every comment from now on. That's all for now!
> 
> Much love, Kat Martine


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The animal menagerie has a much darker past than Kallie and the gang first think . . .

Addison led us proudly, his nose up in the air. Grunt ran around our group excitedly, though I supposed it must have been a long time since he'd met anyone new. All around us, hiding behind tufts of grass and small bushes, were faces of a great many animals, must of which were furry in some way. As soon as we reached the very middle of the plains, Addison rose up to his hind legs.

"Have no fear, everyone!" he called out. "I'd like to introduce the children who so bravely defeated our unwanted loop guest!" Not half a minute after he finished speaking, more and more animals revealed themselves to us, and Addison graciously introduced them all to us. The first was some sort of top half giraffe, bottom half donkey that had only two legs. "This is Deirdre, our resident emu-raffe. She's much like a donkey and a giraffe put together, though with fewer legs than one might expect. She's got quite the temper, as well. She is quite the sore loser when it comes to cards. Won't you say hello, Deirdre?" Then Addison leaned closer and spoke only in a whisper, "Never play cards with an emu-raffe."

"Goodbye! Horrible day! It's a displeasure to meet you!" Deirdre said, drawing her horse lips back in a large, toothy grin before she back to laugh. "Oh, I'm just joking!" I couldn't help but smile.

"Deirdre believes herself to be quite the comedian," said Addison, clearly not as amused as I was.

Olive looked perplexed. "If you're supposed to be like both a donkey and a giraffe, why aren't you called a donkey-raffe?"

"Because that's such a terrible name, don't you think? Don't you think emu-raffe sounds much better? It just rolls right off the tongue." When she finished speaking, Deirdre stuck out her tongue, which had to have been at least three feet long, and used it to fix the position of Olive's tiara. The little girl squealed and giggled as she dashed behind Bronwyn.

"So, do all of you talk?" Jake asked, referring to the other animals who were still showing up in small groups.

"Only Deirdre and I," Addison explained. "But I can't say I'm complaining. The chickens seldom shut up already, and they can't speak a single word!" As soon as he spoke, several chickens, each clucking loudly, strutted towards us. "Oh, here come the girls now."

I noticed where they were coming from - a burned coop, still smoking a little at the top. "What happened to their coop?" I asked. Addison sighed.

"No matter how many times we rebuild it, they always manage to burn it down again. It's really quite bothersome." Then Addison turned a little and nodded in the opposite direction. "I suggest you back up a bit. When the girls get excited -" he couldn't finish his sentence. A loud bang went off like a stick of dynamite, making us all jump. The few intact boards of the coop that remained were destroyed. "- their eggs go off."

Through the clearing smoke, we all could see the chickens continue to make their way toward us, surprisingly both unharmed and unfazed by the explosion. Several feathers floated around them, reminding me of large fluffy snowflakes.

"You're telling me these chickens lay bombs?" Enoch asked, jaw dropped and eyes wide.

"Not bombs, but eggs which explode," Addison corrected. "And they only go off when the girls are excited. Most other times, the eggs are both safe and delicious. It is the exploding ones, however, which awarded them with their rather nasty name: Armageddon chickens."

As the chickens began bobbing around us - one of which bumped into Millard's leg, startling it and setting another egg off inside the nearly non-existent coop - Emma grew agitated. "Get away, now! You'll blow us up!"

"Oh, no need to shoo them away. They're sweet and harmless, I promise you that. And they only lay their eggs in the coop," Addison said, a hint of a laugh in his voice. The chickens began clucking happily as they weaved between our legs. "They quite like you, see?"

"This place is a madhouse!" Horace exclaimed, clutching his hat as he dodged the touch of a chicken's ruffled wing.

"No, darling. Not a madhouse. A menagerie."

Addison continued on with the grand tour, introducing us to more animals who had more subtle peculiarities, one of which was an owl who watched us curiously from a branch. There were mice who kept disappearing and reappearing at odd intervals, which led me to believe that they were crossing through parallels or some other bogus explanation. After all, if they were really turning invisible, I would have seen them the whole time. One of the lesser peculiar animals was a long-horned ram - each as long as my leg, I assumed - with pure black eyes, dark as night; an orphan, Addison explained, from a herd of similar peculiar goats who once lived in the forest at the foot of the mountain.

"Three cheers for the hollow-slayers!" Addison cried as soon as all the animals had gathered together. Deirdre brayed loudly and the goat stomped the ground, creating several scars in the grassy earth. The owl let out several hoots and the chickens clucked - in the commotion we nearly missed a couple more eggs explode - and Grunt, well, grunted his approval. I looked at my companions, only to notice Emma and Bronwyn sharing a silent conversation, each glancing down to where Bronwyn had Miss Peregrine stashed in her coat. Emma shook her head. We would wait, then, to let the animals know of Miss Peregrine's survival.

Bronwyn set Claire down beneath a shady tree close to the rest of us. She was both shivering and sweating, and it was hard for her to remain consistently conscious.

"I recall Miss Wren preparing a sort of elixir for fevers such as this," Addison mused. "It was as foul as it was effective, and it will certainly do the trick."

"My mom would always make me chicken soup," Jacob offered, and I was compelled to hit him over the head with the Tales when the chickens grew alarmed at his words.

"He was only joking!" Addison said, attempting to calm the chickens down as he sent Jacob a look of pure poison. "A terrible, terrible joke, is all! Chicken soup doesn't exist; we all know that!"

And so Addison, Deirdre, and Grunt - as he was the only one of them with opposable thumbs - set off to create the elixir. They returned several long moments later, bringing with them a bowl of what looked to be unfiltered water. Claire promptly drank it to the last drop and fell asleep once more. Once that affair had been taken care of, the animals set to preparing us a small feast. There was fresh bread laid out in baskets and stewed apples and hard-boiled eggs - non-exploding, of course. Each of these things was served directly into our hands, as they had no plates or cutlery. I had ingested two eggs and half a loaf of bread before I finally realized how famished I was.

As I took a bite of my third egg, Jacob let out a fairly loud belch and wiped his mouth, signifying that he'd had his fill. I was expecting him to say something, but after a few seconds I decided to continue on with my egg. Of course, as soon I'd taken a bite, he turned to Millard, who was sitting between us.

"Had you ever heard of peculiar animals before today?" he asked. 

Millard finished swallowing his bite of bread before answering. "No, unless you count children's stories. How odd is it that it was one of such stories that led us to some?" I shrugged.

Olive seemed the least fazed by everything that had happened, though I was fairly unsurprised by that. She was still so young, in a sense, and she hadn't yet realized the vast difference between reality and fantasy. "So, where are all the others?" she asked Addison. "There were other sorts of animals in Cuthbert's story. Like stilt-legged grimbears and two-headed linxes."

At her words, the peculiar animals' gleeful moods dropped. Grunt buried his face in his large hands and Deirdre let out a very donkey-like groan. "Don't ask, don't ask," she said, dropping her gaze to the ground. But it had already been asked, and so it would be answered.

"If the children wish to hear our sad story, we shall tell them. We owe them that much, after all they've done for us," Addison said, though I could see a little pain in his eyes.

"We should like to hear it, if you don't mind," Emma said.

"I happen to like sad stories," said Enoch. "Especially when princess get eaten by dragons and everyone dies."

Addison nodded his head once and cleared his throat. "Alas, the reality is more as if the princess ate the dragon. It's been a rough few years for us peculiar animals, and a rough few centuries before that." He paced back and forth as he spoke, his voice changing to sound more grand, as if he was narrating some sort of peculiar documentary. "Once upon a time, there was an abundance of peculiar animals on the earth. In the Aldinn days, there were more peculiar animals than peculiar humans. We came in every shape and size imaginable: whales that could fly, worms as large as houses, and if you can believe it, dogs who were twice as intelligent as me. Some even had their own kingdoms, ruled by some such peculiar animals." He paused then, a small spark gleaming in his eyes as if he was there to see the world in such a state. He then sighed and the spark sputtered out. "Now our numbers are hardly a fraction of what they once were. We're near extinct at this point. Do any of you know what happened to these peculiar animals that once roamed the earth?"

We remained silent, chewing our food and guilty that we couldn't even muster up a guess.

"Hm," Addison sighed. "All right, then. Follow me and I can show you." With that, he walked out into the sun, pausing a few yards away to turn and wait for us.

"Addie, please, you mustn't do this now," Deirdre said, her tone growing nervous. "Our guests are still eating."

"They asked and I am answering," Addison replied simply. "Their food will still be here when we return."

Reluctant but feeling obligated to, we set down our food and followed after him. Fiona offered to stay behind to watch after Claire, and none of us objected. As we made our way across the plateau, Grunt and Deirdre followed after us. We entered a small stretch of forest that grew at the far end. We walked the winding gravel path, and I noticed my twisted ankle was getting better. Through the trees, I could see a clearing.

"May I introduce the finest peculiar animals to ever live," Addison said just as we approached, and we broke through the trees.

"Oh, Kallie," Millard murmured, hugging me immediately to his chest. 

We found ourselves in front of a small cemetery. White headstones were planted in rows like trees. Between them, unseen by everyone else, were the countless ghosts of peculiar animals.

Tears welled up in my eyes and a strangled sob came from my mouth against my will. I turned away almost immediately, accepting Millard's embrace and burying my face in the crook of his neck, wishing to unsee the terrible sight.

"My, what's got her all worked up?" Addison asked, genuine worry in his voice. I turned back around to look at him, glad that Millard kept his arms around my waist.

"I can see them all," I murmured, a tear slipping down my cheek as I looked at all of the ghosts, some appearing to be more peculiar than others. "When animals die, they don't go anywhere; their souls stay on Earth. I guess it's the same with peculiar ones."

Bronwyn rested a hand on my shoulder. "If it's too much to handle, you can go back." I granted her a weak smile and sniffed.

"It's all right, I'll be fine in a moment," I replied, then turned back to Addison. "Please, you were saying?"

Addison nodded, then began weaving between the graves. I cringed a little every time he unknowingly passed through a ghost. "Of course. There are likely more peculiar animals here than are currently alive in all of Europe," Addison explained. He seemed to come across the stone he was looking for. I took a step nearer and saw to whom it belonged: a beautiful dog, a fair bit larger than Addison himself.

"This one," he began again, "was Pompey. A fine dog, she was. She was able to heal almost any wound with a few licks of her tongue. A true wonder, really! And in return, she was treated like this." Addison clicked his tongue then, and Grunt came forward with a small photo album. He opened to one page in particular, and the picture upon it was of a dog in a harness, much like a horse's, who was visually similar but much skinnier than the dog before me. "It was carnival folk who first got a hold of her. She was forced to pull around spoiled, fat children like a common horse. She was even whipped with riding crops, on occasion!" Twin flames of anger burned in Addison's eyes as he spoke. "By the time Miss Wren found her, she was in such terrible shape, mentally and physically, that she only remained here for a few weeks before passing on."

I smiled sadly down at Addison. "Well, she's looking much better now," I assured him. The dog of which he spoke so highly wagged her tail slightly at my words. I kneeled down to stroke Pompey's head, but I had forgotten that she was merely a ghost and my hand passed right through. She dissipated and reappeared a few feet away.

"I'm glad to hear," said Addison. He then crossed over to another headstone, one that was nearly obscured from my view by a large, fearsome beast reminiscent of an oversized ox with far too many horns. "Even more grand than Pompey was Ca'ab Magda, an eighteen-tusked wildebeest who roamed the loops of Outer Mongolia. My, was she terrifying! The ground thundered under her feet as she ran! There are stories of her marching over the Alps with Hannibal's army in 218 BC. Unfortunately, a prize hunter shot her some years ago."

I turned to see the photograph Grunt was showing now: one of an older woman who looked like she'd just returned from a safari and was sitting on an absurdly designed horned chair.

"I don't understand," Emma said as she studied the picture. "Where is Ca'ab Magda?"

"Being sat upon," said Addison, clearly upset at Ca'ab Magda's fate. "That damned hunter fashioned her horns into that disgrace of a chair." At his explanation, Emma fumbled with the album, nearly letting it fall to the ground.

"That's horrible!"

Enoch took a step closer to catch a better view. "If that's her," he said, pointing to the chair. "Then what's buried there?"

"Why, the chair, of course," said Addison, punctuating his sentence with a sigh. "Such a waste of a peculiar life."

"If it makes you feel any better, her ghost is whole. She's definitely a sight to behold, and I mean that in the best possible way," I said, hoping to be of some consolation. Addison nodded once more, a small smile on his face - what was, if dogs could even really smile.

I looked around at all the ghosts once more as Addison continued speaking. "This burial ground is full of stories like Magda's," he explained, but as I made my way through the rows of graves, reaching for the ghosts of lost peculiar animals but always remaining just out of reach, I was barely paying attention. "What Miss Wren intended to be a menagerie has become a mausoleum."

"Just like every loop. Hell, like peculiardom in general. A failed experiment," Enoch said.

"'This place is dying,' Miss Wren used to say," said Addison, raising the pitch of his voice as he quoted his absent headmistress. "'And I am nothing but the overseer of this prolonged funeral.'"

Addison's eyes glistened as he spoke, and he was no doubt recalling memories of her. But the gleam faded, and he returned to his usual, steady-gazed look. "She was quite theatrical."

"Would you kindly not refer to our ymbryne in the past tense?" asked Deirdre, almost offended at the dog's choice of words.

"Of course, of course, I apologize. She is quite theatrical."

"They hunted you," Emma said, a frown on her lips and her voice unsteady. "Stuffed you. Locked you up in zoos."

"Just like the hunters in Cuthbert's story," added Olive with a sad little pout.

Addison sighed. "Indeed, they did. Though some truths are better expressed as falsities and myths."

"So there really was no Cuthbert?" Olive asked, though it seemed she was piecing the information together just fine by herself. "Only a bird."

"A special bird, at that," said Deirdre, a small twinkle appearing in each of her brown eyes.

Jacob looked from the emu-raffe to Addison. "And you're worried about her."

"Well, why wouldn't we?" replied the dog. "As far as I know, Miss Wren remains as the only uncaptured ymbryne. As soon as she heard word that her sisters had been kidnapped and taken to London, she hurried off to rescue them without a single thought of her own safety."

"Nor our safety," Deirdre said, and though I was expecting some sort of anger or bitterness in her tone, there was none - she could never say a bad word about her ymbryne.

Emma held up a hand. "Wait, London? Are you sure that's where the ymbrynes have been taken?"

"Why, my dear girl, I'm positive that's where they are. Miss Wren has a particular flock of peculiar pigeons stationed as spies in the city, watching everything then reporting back to her. Recently, quite a number of them flew in in the most terrible state of distress. They had it on good information that the captured ymbryne were and are being kept in the punishment loops," Addison explained.

The others seemed shocked, but Jacob and I hadn't the slightest idea of what they were talking about. "And a punishment loop is?" I asked.

"A special loop designed to hold captured wights, the worst of felons, and the criminally insane," explained Millard, glancing between Jacob and me as he answered. "In any case, they're much, much worse than any of the loops we've seen."

"And now it's the wights - and with them, the hollowgast - who are guarding them," Addison tacked on for some added clarity.

Horace clutched the rim of his hat. "Good God!" he exclaimed. "It's worse than we feared!"

"You must be kidding, this is exactly what I feared!" Enoch retorted with his typical scoff.

"Well, whatever the wights are planning to do, it is clear they need all the ymbrynes they can get their filthy hands on," Addison said, a slight growl in his throat. "And all that's left of them is Miss Wren. Poor, brave Miss Wren! And who can even say for how long?" He then whimpered - the most dog-like thing he'd done all day - and tucked his ears back.

Bronwyn and Emma shared another look at that, and I knew that sometime within the next ten minutes they would probably reveal the whereabouts of Miss Peregrine - that was, in Bronwyn's coat. 

"Come now," said Deirdre, urgently wishing to change the subject. "Let's go back and continue eating, yeah?" But I was far from hungry, and as the rest of the children began to head back down the path, I informed Addison and Millard that'd I'd like to stay in the animal cemetery. Sure, I'd had a bad reaction when we had first arrived, but now I was itching to hear more about the peculiar animals. When would I ever have an opportunity like that again? 

Millard offered to stay behind, but I shooed him away. With a kiss to my cheek and a small wave, he left. I took a deep breath and turned around, facing the ghosts of the peculiar animals once more. Without another moment's hesitation, I took a step toward the first grave's ghost - a rabbit with ears longer than my torso - and said its name aloud.

"Hello, Josie, it's nice to meet you."

\---

I'd lost track of the time I'd spent with the peculiar ghosts, so I was a bit startled when I heard footsteps coming up the path.

"Just a moment, Trix," I said excusing myself from the conversation I was having with a talking jackalope. I rose and dusted the dirt off my capris before looking up. I was expecting to see Millard, but instead, I was met with a shocked looking Fiona, a slice of bread and a hard-boiled egg in her hands.

"Oh," I heard her murmur, which was yet another surprise, as she usually remained silent.

"Yeah," I said, looking around me and smiling at who I considered my new friends, despite their state of being. Gyp, a jumpy fox with horns like a rhinoceros, scampered behind me - well, through me, startled by the newcomer.

Fiona was visibly uncomfortable with the sight before her, so to take her mind off it, I made my way toward her, weaving once more around the graves. "Is that for me?" I asked in reference to the food in her hands. She nodded and handed the bread and egg to me. My appetite had returned, and as soon as I thanked her, we sat down and I set to eating what I'd been given.

We sat in silence for a few moments, but I expected no less from Fiona. We had spoken only a couple times in the time I'd known the children - on days when the loop was on lockdown and I would visit her in the garden. Understanding her thick Irish accent was a struggle at first, but I liked to think I was beginning to get the hang of it.

"How's Claire?" I asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Better," she replied. It was easier to understand her when she spoke only in short sentences.

I smiled. "That's good to hear. I hope we don't have to leave too soon. She needs to get up her strength."

Fiona only nodded, but I didn't mind. I was about to speak again when we heard another set of footfalls rushing down the path toward us. This time, it was Millard.

"Kallie, Fiona, you're here! Good!" he exclaimed between breaths. Fiona and I quickly got to our feet, worried that something terrible had happened. We weren't the only ones who were agitated, as the ghosts of the peculiar animals seemed to be worried as well. Gyp was darting around wildly. Ca'ab Magda was stomping the ground with a large, ghostly hoof, which could have started an earthquake if she was still alive. Hooty, a large screech owl nearly four times the size of the barn owl we had seen earlier, was flying in circles overhead, letting out several thundering screeches that nearly shook the spirit realm.

"What's the matter? Is everything all right?" I asked urgently, prepared to run back to the others if need be.

"We need to leave. Immediately. Miss Peregrine doesn't have much longer before she's stuck in bird form forever."

My heart sank at his words and Fiona's jaw dropped. "Oh, my God," I whispered. "That's horrible."

And without another word, the three of us headed back. We were nearly halfway down the path when Millard, who was behind me, grabbed ahold of my arm and stopped me, letting Fiona go on ahead. I turned to face him, confused as to why he couldn't have spoken to me back at the animal graveyard.

"Kallie, are you sure you're okay?" he asked. "You've seemed to be on edge since we arrived at the menagerie."

I knitted my eyebrows together, even more confused than before - weren't we all at least a bit on edge? I took a few steps forward and held his upper arms, looking into his honey-brown eyes. "Millard, I'm fine. Relax a little, alright? Everything's going to be okay. We're going to help Miss Peregrine, and we'll rescue the captured ymbrynes and we'll all survive. I promise."

He was silent for a moment, and I was worried that I'd said the wrong thing until he pecked my lips, stealing my breath away from me momentarily.

"My God, Kallie. Could you be any more perfect?" he asked, though I wasn't sure if it was rhetorical or not. We both laughed just a little, though the usually joyous sound was laced with weariness. I took his hand in mine and laced our fingers together.

"Come on," I said, avoiding his question, because how could I answer something like that? "We really should be heading back."

As we resumed our walk back, our steps no longer as rushed as they once had been, my mind clouded over with worry. Had I just made a promise I couldn't keep? I looked down at our hands, clasped together as they so often were nowadays. I was suddenly scared I would end up letting him down. I was scared that I wouldn't be able to keep my promise. What almost scared me more than both those things, however, was the way he'd managed to worm his way into my daily routine - I was so used to having Millard there all the time that it was hard to believe that one day - probably soon - we'd have to say goodbye. I had offered him my hand, my hope, and most terrifying of all, my heart. And I wasn't sure if that was a risk I was willing to take. Then I realized: I already had.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hitching a ride on the back of a Gypsy wagon, the peculiar children run into another sticky situation.

Not half an hour later we set off, leaving behind Claire and Fiona - the former was too sick and the latter volunteered to look after her - along with the peculiar animals. As our little group of peculiars, our number down to ten, made its way down the mountain, I couldn't help but notice the sun setting over the tops of the hills. Soon enough it would be dark, and we would be one day closer to having Miss Peregrine stuck in her bird form forever.

I looked to the unsinkable trunk Bronwyn still carried, recalling what it now held: fresh food that should last us until we reached the next town - though Addison never specified how far away it was – and scratchy woolen sweaters. They had been woven from the wool of the peculiar sheep, though what made it so peculiar we had yet to discover. "Impervious to flame," said Deirdre. "Or - no! Water! They will never sink, just like life vests. Or - well - I don't know. Regardless, they're warm!" Lastly, there was a small package - "From the chickens," Deirdre explained - that Grunt had handed Jacob. There was not a doubt in my mind that they were eggs of the exploding variety.

The thought of bringing along explosives worried me at first, but I quickly realized that if we didn't bring them, our only weapons against the wights would be Emma's flames, Bronwyn's strength, and Hugh's bees. I'd learned in the past that ghosts couldn't harm the living -I had met my fair share of angry spirits -and none of the other abilities were harmful. Sure, Jacob could see the monsters, but that wasn't enough. And though Horace could see the future, that couldn't really hurt anyone. Enoch had no more provisions, and therefore couldn't bring anything to life to defend us. Millard, Olive, and Miss Peregrine each had peculiarities that were good for running away, and in her compromised state, the ymbryne couldn't even do that. Without the eggs, we may as well have gone in blind.

Before we left, Emma had been sure to ask for directions. After all, it had only been by chance that we'd stumbled upon the menagerie, and once we were out of the loop, we would be just as lost as before. Addison had taken Emma and Jacob up to the top of Miss Wren's tower to show them the way through the forest. I spent the time saying goodbye to Claire and Fiona. Though we'd had only a few conversations in which she seldom talked, I liked to consider Fiona one of my closer friends of all the children, along with Claire and Olive. I couldn't bring myself to consider Millard my friend - after all we'd been through, all we'd done for each other, we were far too close to be considered 'just friends'.

I looked back at the supposedly invisible boy to whom I'd grown so close. He granted me a sad smile when our eyes met. Just beyond his head was the peak of the mountain where we'd left our friends. I longed, just for a moment, to go back and stay away from imminent doom, but I knew I couldn't. We'd come too far to go back now. I wished I had asked what year this loop was, but if I went back to ask, I knew I wouldn't leave. I slowed my pace just a little and fell into step next to Millard.

"Everything all right?" he asked, but I only nodded vaguely. I was too busy thinking about what Claire had said to me.

"Kallie, I need you to promise you'll come back," she had said. I nodded and smiled a little, but my heart wasn't in it.

"I promise," I told her, but it felt fake, like some part of me knew it was a promise I wouldn't be able to keep. Claire had hugged me, then. Well, she tried her best to hug me, but her body was so weak that when I went to hug her back, I was afraid she'd fall apart with even the slightest touch.

"I'm glad you stayed with us. I'm very happy I met you."

"So am I," I replied. "You're a brave girl, Claire." That made her pale little face brighten and her smile beamed. I didn't know what else to say so I got up and waved goodbye.

I sighed and continued walking. My twisted ankle was beginning to feel better, which was astounding since I'd done almost nothing but walk for nearly a whole day. At last we'd reached the cliff where just hours ago we'd been attacked by a hollow. We all climbed into the net and landed with an awkward plop at the bottom. It took an embarrassing amount of time for us to get free of the knotted ropes, but we somehow managed.

I may not have been able to see the hollow, but I sure could smell it. I held my breath as we tiptoed around its corpse and didn't breathe in again until we were a fair distance away. We booked it down the path, running as fast as our weary legs could carry us so that we'd make it out of the loop by dark. It took much shorter than I'd expected, thank God, and our tracks in the boggy forest ground were still clear enough to follow back the way we'd come.

The last of the sun was setting on the horizon when we made it to the lake, painting the sky with vibrant oranges and purples and pinks. It was as if the sky was sending us off with fireworks, allowing us just a little more brightness in our lives before returning, at last, to our harrowing journey. Bats cried and flew in circles above us like a warning to refrain from doing just that. We knew that wasn't a chance we could take, however, and so we dove into the rock giant's mouth and swam out into 1940.

It was midday, now, but still much colder than it had been in the loop. I found myself wishing to go back for just another moment of warmth, but I knew that would only delay the inevitability of facing the cold. The pressure in my ears was offputting. I noticed Jacob commenting about how it was similar to an airplane taking off - while I agreed, the children were completely lost. He went to speak again, but Emma cut him off.

"Listen!" she demanded, and we all fell silent. In the distance was the barking of dogs, but sound traveled differently in woods, and I grew nervous. Emma looked around at all of us. "We must move quickly, then. Not a word from anyone, including you, Miss Peregrine."

"I'll throw one of those eggs at the first dog that comes near," muttered Hugh as we slowly and quietly made our way out of the lake. "Teach them a lesson for chasing peculiars."

"You wouldn't dare. One mishandled egg and they'll all blow," warned Bronwyn. Hugh only shrugged.

Once we were all out of the lake, Millard began navigating our way using the map Jacob had gotten from Addison. It was Miss Wren's, he'd informed us back in the loop, and was of the forest. It took only half an hour for us to reach a dirt road - we were finally back on track. We stopped then, and stood in the gutters of an old set of wagon tracks while Millard studied the map, trying to make sense of where we were and which way we would go. I noticed Jacob pull out his phone, and in other circumstances might have laughed when he frowned and tossed it into the woods, only to retrieve it a few seconds later.

"The town is just to our left," Millard announced, folding the map and tucking it under his arm. "About a five- or six-hour walk, from the looks of it. If we want to be here by nightfall, we'd better get a move on."

And so we began to walk as fast as we could manage, only to stop not much later when Bronwyn noticed something. "Behind us," she whispered, and we all turned to see a could of smoke steadily making its way down the path towards us. "Someone's coming, what do we do?"

Without giving me a warning, Millard removed his greatcoat and tossed it into the bushes. "We hide," he said simply. "I strongly suggest you lot find some way to make yourselves hidden, despite your obvious limitations. I smiled a little before stepping off the path and crouching at the base of a large tree while the others gathered behind several adjacent bushes.

The cloud of dust grew nearer and nearer until we could hear the sounds of hoofbeats and rickety wooden wheels. It was a caravan of horse-drawn wagons. Horace gasped and Olive smiled brightly as the wagons drew nearer. These weren't the same gray and boring wagons I'd grown accustomed to seeing in Cairnholm. No, these wagons were painted with bright colors and had elaborately carved doors and roofs. The drivers - both men and women - were clothed in equally bright fabrics, beads bumping against their chests and scarves fluttering gently in the wind.

"Are they peculiar?" I heard Jacob asked. I turned to Emma, who was sitting between him and me.

"They're Gypsies."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I asked. 

She turned and met my gaze, her eyes narrowed but not because of me. She was thinking. "I can't tell."

We both looked back at the wagons as they passed and I began to realize what she was thinking. The town where we were heading was still a long way away, and it was certainly much quicker to travel by wagon than on foot. Plus, with the added threat of dogs and wights, we would need all the seed we could get to put distance between them and us. The only thing working against the plan was that we hadn't a clue who these Gypsies were, or if they could even be trusted.

"Shall we catch a ride?" asked Emma. My gaze snapped back to her. Jacob did the same, looking from her to the wagons and back again. I thought about my feet, which already hurt, and Miss Peregrine who didn't have much time to spare. The answer was unanimous.

"Definitely," Jake and I said in unison, and if it had been at any other time, we might have laughed.

Emma quickly caught the attention of the others and pointed to the last wagon as it came into our view. She made a motion that could be easily understood as running and waited for everyone's affirmations. I assessed the wagon - reminiscent of the Trojan horse - and noticed a little platform jutting out the back that looked to be big enough to fit all of us if we really squeezed together. Just as it passed and the last driver wouldn't catch us, we darted out of the trees. On my way out I grabbed Millard's coat, just in case. Emma hopped on first then helped everyone else up onto the ledge. Once I was up I began looking for Millard until I felt a tap on my shoulder. There he was, beaming, and I handed him his coat with a matching smile.

And so we rode, and I lost track of time soon enough. We went on for a long time, though, gripping to the back of the wagon like our lives depended on it - they did, really. My clothes, washed clean by the water of the lake, was now coated in dust. My ears rang from the droning of the clattering wagon wheels, and I was sure everyone else was enduring the same annoyance. The midday sun soon sank behind the trees, rising like walls on either side of the path as we carried on. I was on edge for the first few hours, worried that the wights and their dogs would burst through the trees at any moment, but they never did.

Every so often the caravan would stop and we'd all hold our breaths and pay we wouldn't be faced with a fight-or-flight situation. Millard would hand me his coat so he could go investigate, only to return to inform us the Gypsies were stretching their legs or reshoeing one of the horses. Regardless of the case, we would always be moving again within five minutes of stopping. It took another hour after I'd stopped worrying about the wights for me to stop thinking we'd be caught. We'll pass as orphans, I reassured myself, they'll pity us and send us off with some bread. At the thought of food, my stomach growled softly, inaudible over the sound of hooves beating the ground.

Not very long after Jacob and I began discussing our alibi in low whispers did we have the opportunity to put it to use. The wagons veered off the road and into a small clearing before stopping. I took Millard's coat once more as he left our ranks, preparing for a counterattack if need be. A large man with a small cap on his head and a bushy caterpillar mustache under his nose came around the back of our wagon. He was frowning, though I certainly understood why.

"Please sir," Emma began, dropping down from the platform. "Please, we throw ourselves at your mercy! Our house has been bombed and our parents are all dead! We've got nowhere-"

"Oh, shut your gob!" the man shouted. "Get down from there, the lot of you!" None of us moved, but I had a strong desire to obey for fear of losing my head to the vastly decorated knife he held in his hand. Its tip gleamed in what was left of the setting sun.

We all shared glances, unsure if we would fight back or do as he said, until at least two dozen more Gypsies came around to see what was going on. Many of them had their own knives, each with at least a few glittering jewels inlaid in their hilts. We were surrounded.

I looked down at Emma, who had pretty much become our leader - not that I was complaining. She had been doing a well enough job so far, and I knew I could trust her to get us out of this mess. Her hands were against her chest, though, and not out like she was about to defend herself. She wasn't going to fight them, and that seemed perfectly logical to me. Finally, Jacob stepped down from the platform, his hands raised above his head in surrender. I followed suit, then Horace and Hugh, until we were all on the ground. I dared a look around for Millard, but even I couldn't see him.

"Who are you?" asked the man, startling me as he began a round of quick-fire questions. "Where are you from? Who are your elders?"

"We're from the west," Emma replied in a calm voice I know I wouldn't have managed to muster up. "An island just off the mainland. We're all orphans, as I said before. Our houses were destroyed in an air raid and we had to flee. We rowed all the way to the mainland and nearly lost our lives at sea - " then she made it look like she was about to start crying. "We've got nothing." A sniffle. "We've been wandering the woods for days, now, looking for something to eat. We're wearing our only clothes. We saw your wagons pass, but we were too scared to show ourselves. We only wanted to make it to the town . . ."

The man narrowed his eyes at her and frowned deeper as he looked over us all. "Why did you have to leave your island when your house was bombed? And why didn't you follow the coast rather than go through the woods?"

"We had to," Enoch spoke up. "We were being chased."

Emma looked at him with a glare that said 'I'll take care of this'.

"Chased by who?" asked the man, who by now I assumed was the leader.

"Bad, bad men," Emma replied.

"They had guns!" Horace added. "And they were dressed like soldiers, but are really much, much worse."

A woman wearing a bright yellow scarf around her head took a step forward. "If soldiers are looking for them, that's unneeded trouble for us. Turn them away, Bekhir."

"Or leave them behind, tied to the trees!" suggested a rat-like man.

"No!" cried Olive. "We just have to get to London or it'll be too late!"

The leader raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, yeah? Too late for what?" Emma opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off again. "No matter. We aren't doing anything until we find out who you are - " he paused, then, and the glint in his eyes made my stomach turn - "and what you're worth.

\---

Ten men, each with long, sharp knives, marched us to a flatbed wagon with a large cage mounted upon it. It was clear that this contraption was meant for animals, not humans. Its thick iron bars grew more menacing the closer we got to it.

"You're not putting us in there, are you?" Olive asked.

"Only until we know what we're going to do with you," the leader replied.

"Oh, but you can't! We've got to get to London as soon as possible!" the little girl cried.

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"One of us is terribly ill," replied Emma, and for a moment I was worried she was going to mention Miss Peregrine until she turned to Hugh. "He needs a doctor desperately!"

One of the Gyspy men snorted. "No need to go all the way to London for a doctor. Jebbiah's a doctor. Ain't that right, Jebbiah?"

At the mention of his name, a man with lesions across his cheeks came forward. "Which one of ye's ill?"

"What Hugh needs is a specialist," Emma said. "He's got a rare case of stinging cough."

With that, Hugh raised a hand to his throat and coughed, allowing a bee to shoot out his mouth as he did. Many of the Gypsies gasped and one little girl hid her face behind her mother's skirt.

"It's a trick!" cried the supposed doctor, taking a step back.

"That's quite enough," said the leader, holding out his knife once more. "Into the cage, all of you."

The men resumed shoving us toward the ramp leading into the cage, but upon arriving at it, we pooled at the bottom. None of us wanted to go in first.

"We can't let them get away with this!" Hugh whispered.

Enoch turned to Emma with a frown on his face. "What are you waiting for? Burn them already!"

"There are too many of them," Emma replied, shaking her head. Without any more delay, she began the ascent into the cage. We all followed - what other choice did we have, aside from certain death?

The iron-barred ceiling was low and the floor was littered with large piles of foul-smelling hay. Once we'd all gathered inside, the leader slammed the door and locked it behind us. I watched as he dropped the key - possibly our only chance to escape - into his pocket.

"No one is to go near them!" he bellowed to anyone in earshot. "They could be witches, or maybe even worse."

"That's exactly what we are!" Enoch cried, clutching onto a bar in each hand. "So let us out before we turn all your children to warthogs!"

The leader only laughed at him and walked back down the ramp. The other Gypsies began setting up tents and several fires of various sizes. We all sank down to the floor, defeated, spiritless.

"Everyone, be careful. There's animal dung all over the floor!" Horace warned. Enoch only scoffed.

"Nobody cares if you ruin your clothes," he said scornfully. 

Horace sniffed. "Well, I do."

We all huddled in various places around the cage, which was about ten by twenty feet. I found some of the less disgusting hay and began braiding it to keep my mind off what could happen to us.

Bronwyn opened her coat to allow Miss Peregrine some fresh air. Enoch knelt next to the bird and cocked his head to one side as if he was listening to her chest. "D'you hear that?" he asked.

"What?" Bronwyn replied, worried that something was going wrong.

"The sound of Miss Peregrine's life ticking away!" Emma, you should have burned off those Gypsies' faces when you had the chance!"

"We were surrounded! I couldn't risk any of us getting hurt," Emma replied. I could tell she was trying to sound as strong as ever, but I could hear an undertone of weariness in her voice.

"So you decided risking Miss Peregrine was a better idea?"

"Leave her be, Enoch," Bronwyn said calmly. "It ain't easy, deciding for everyone. We can't take a vote every time we need to make a decision."

Enoch huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly annoyed. "Well, maybe you should let me decide for everyone for a change."

"We'd all be dead by now if we let you do that," I snapped, tearing one of the pieces of hay and pulling apart the braid angrily. I grabbed three more pieces and began again.

"It doesn't matter, now," Jacob said, butting in before any more harsh words were exchanged. "What matters is that we get out of this cage and make it to the town. We're a lot closer than if we'd just walked, so there's no need crying over milk that hasn't even been spilled yet. We've got to find some way to escape."

And so we began to brainstorm, but each idea we thought up was quickly discarded. The wood floor was too thick for Emma to burn through, and Bronwyn wouldn't be able to bend the bars of the cage without making and unneeded scene. All hope seemed lost, but then a voice sounded, bringing our attention to the side of the cage.

"Have you forgotten about me already?" asked Millard in a whisper, and I wanted to cry out with happiness when I saw him standing just outside the cage. His revelation seemed to brighten all of our moods. I quickly crawled over to a spot near where he stood, but not so close that the Gypsies would grow suspicious. He reached a hand through the bars just far enough that he could rest it on top of mine.

"Millard! Where did you go? I couldn't see where you went!" I exclaimed quietly. 

"Getting familiar with our surroundings. And waiting for all the commotion to die down."

"Do you think you could snatch the key and get us out?" asked Emma, rattling the locked door for extra measure. "The head man put it in his pocket."

Millard gave her a cheeky grin, even though only I could see it. "But of course. Prowling and purloinment are my specialties." With one last squeeze of my hand, he headed off once more.

\---

As we waited to be rescued, the children began grilling me on what Millard was doing. Nearly an hour had gone by and all I'd seen him do was sneak in and out of the trees. Every so often he would come out and grow near to the leader, but the large man would always move before Millard could grab the key.

I sat in a corner of the cage, leaning my back against on wall and my forehead on the other, avoiding putting any weight on the part of my head that had been injured. At Hugh's voice, I rolled my neck so I could face him. He was pacing, one of his bees swirling around his head in agitation. "What's he doing now? Why is he taking so long?" 

I looked back over at the Gypsy camp, but I saw no sign of the invisible boy I'd grown so fond of. I shook my head. 

"Dunno. Can't see him," I replied shortly. In another ten minutes, he'd ask again, but my eyelids had grown heavy and my head fell gently against the cold metal bar. I'd somehow managed to fall asleep and was promptly launched into a dream filled with peculiar animal ghosts and myself leading an army of winged bears into battle.

\---

I woke up about an hour later to the sound of horns and fiddles. In my sleep-hazed state, I could barely make out a conversation between Jacob and a little Gypsy boy who offered something in a bottle to help Hugh, who once again pretended to be sick. My foggy mind finally tuned in properly when the little boy asked something about us killing someone.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, sitting up straighter and groaning when my back protested - iron bars were not an ideal bed.

Jacob remained silent, a somewhat deer-in-headlights look on his face. "We didn't kill anyone!" Emma replied, but an image of Carl Golan's dead body falling from the lighthouse passed through my mind. Well, shit.

"Well, ya musta done something bad, else they wouldn't'a reward on your heads," the boy said, peaking my interest even more.

"There's a reward?" asked Enoch, just as intrigued as the rest of us.

"Sure as rain. They're offering a big pile of money."

"Who?"

The boy only shrugged.

"Well, are you going to turn us over to them?" asked Olive, her eyes growing wide.

"I dunno. Maybe we will, maybe we won't. The bigshots are over there chewing it over now. Though, they don't much trust the folks who's offerin' the reward. But money's money, and they don't much like the way you won't answer their questions," the boy replied, chewing his lip a bit.

"Well, where we're from," Emma began, "you don't question the people who come looking for help."

"And you surely don't put 'em in cages!" added Olive.

Before anyone else could speak, a loud bang went off near the center of the camp. The Gypsy boy lost his footing and toppled off the ramp and into the grass below. Those of us inside the cage ducked as various metal pots and pans flew through the air. The Gypsy woman who'd been tending to the meal ran away from the cookfire screaming blue murder; her dress had caught fire. Someone picked up a bucket of water and quickly put it out.

Not a moment later Millard came bounding up the ramp and I rose quickly to my feet. "And that, my dear friends, is what happens when you try to cook an omelet from a peculiar egg!" he exclaimed, his perfect laughter ringing through my ears.

"You made that happen?" asked Horace.

"Well, everything was much too calm and orderly - terrible weather for pickpocketing, really! So I managed to slip one of our eggs into theirs, et voila!" With that, Millard raised one of his fits and opened it so his palm was facing up, revealing a shining key.

"Well, it took you long enough!" I commented, but in that moment, if there wasn't a cage separating us, I really would have kissed him.

"Alright, let's get out of here!" Enoch said, growing more and more anxious the longer we were still in the cage.

To everyone's dismay, before Millard could even get the key in the door, the Gypsy boy rose and began shouting. "Help! Help! The prisoners are escaping!"

But in all the commotion, no one heard him except for us. Millard finally got the key in the lock and twisted it. He pulled at the door, but it wouldn't budge.

"Perhaps I stole the wrong key?" he said sheepishly, but his last word was drowned out by the Gypsy boy's screaming.

"Ghost! There's a ghost!" he cried, pointing in the vague direction of Millard's mouth. Millard only looked at me and grinned, despite the fact that our escape mission had just been compromised. Then he ran off.

"Oh, would someone please shut him up?" Enoch groaned. Without a moment's hesitation, Bronwyn grabbed the boy by both arms and hauled him up, pressing him against the outside of the bars.

"Help! Help!" the boy cried out again as he struggled against Bronwyn's iron tight grip. "They've got mmfff-" he was cut off when Bonwyn clamped a hand down over his mouth, but it was too late.

"Galbi!" one woman shouted, pointing at the boy. "Unhand him, you savages!"

It took a few seconds for me to realize what we'd done - we'd taken a hostage. At least seven Gypsy men drew their knives and charged at us, and I felt my stomach drop.

"What are you doing, Wyn?" Millard asked, traces of panic evident in his voice. "Drop the boy before they kill us all!"

"No, stop," demanded, Emma, and Bronwyn looked conflicted. Emma then raised her voice to shout above the commotion. "Free us or the boy dies!"

The Gypsies didn't make a move to release us from the cage, though. Instead, they began to shout threats and insults at us. "If you harm him in any way, I'll kill you all myself!" bellowed the leader.

"Stand back!" Emma shouted. "Let us go and we won't hurt anyone!"

One man charged forward, and on instinct Emma flicked her hands and produced a fireball between them. The Gypsies stopped moving, shocked by Emma's show.

"Oh, now you've done it," Enoch groaned. "They'll hang us for witchcraft!"

"I'll burn the first one that tries to a crisp!" Emma shouted, speading her hands father apart to make her fireball even larger. "Let's show them what they're up against!"

At Emma's cry, Bronwyn raised the Gypsy boy even higher with one hand and used the other to bend back the iron bars. Hugh stuck his face between two more and let his bees lose, careful to not have them sting anyone just yet. Millard then darted around behind the Gypsies.

"And if you think you can deal with them, you certainly haven't met me!" he shouted. With that, he launched another explosing egg into the air. We all watched it arch over the Gypsies' heads. It landed in a small clearing not too far away with a loud bang! and sent dirt up as high as the tops of the trees.

As the smoke cleared, everything was finally silent. No one moved. No one spoke. My ears were ringing, though so perhaps I missed something. When they finally began to function again, I noticed that the Gypsies weren't shocked or surprised by our display - they were listening for something. Sure enough, in the distance, came the sound of an engine. Through the trees broke twin headlights. We all watched as the lights passed the entrance to the clearing, slowed down, and came back. 

It was a canvas-topped military vehicle, and I felt nearly sick to my stomach at the sight of it. From inside came the barking of dogs and angry voices. It was, without a doubt, the wights, finally back on our trail. And now we were stuck in a cage and far from sweet-talking our way to an escape.

Emma clapped her hands together to quickly put out her fire. Bronwyn set the boy back down and he stumbled toward his mother. The gypsies ran off toward their wagons or the woods - anywhere to get away from the wights. We were once again alone in the cage, save for Millard. Everone had forgotten us save for the leader.

"Open the cage!" Emma begged, her hands still clasped. The man ignored her plea.

"Hide under the hay and don't make a single sound," he ordered. "And don't think of performing any magic tricks, unless you want to go with them."

This time, there was no time to argue with him. Two Gypsy men ran toward us with a large black tarpaulin. The flipped it over top of our cage. The cookfires may have still been glowing and the sun may still have had a few more minutes to sink beneath the horizon, but it was instantly night.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children learn who are their friends, and who are their enemies...

All was silent in the cage, save for the pounding of my racing pulse in my ear, almost perfectly synchronized with the heavy footfalls outside. No one spoke, but we didn't need to - we knew they were wights, and even the slightest peep would blow our cover. 

As we burrowed under the putrid hay covering the ground of the cage, my eyes began to adjust to the darkness and I noticed Jacob was to my direct left. I grabbed his hand, just as Emma was doing on his other side. He turned his head to face me and offered up a meager smile, squeezing my hand in silent comfort. I couldn't quite bring myself to smile back.

Outside, a wight began speaking with the Gypsy leader. "We're looking for a group of children. They were seen this morning walking along the road," the wight said in an accent I couldn't quite place - it was neither strictly German, nor strictly English. "There's a reward for whoever finds and captures them."

"We haven't seen anyone but ourselves the whole day, sir," replied the Gypsy.

The wight grunted. "Don't be fooled by their innocent looks. They're traitors. German spies. The whole lot of them. The penalty for harboring them . . ."

"We aren't harboring anyone or anything. You can see for yourself," the leader said. At his words, I felt my heart, formerly in my throat, drop to my knees.

"Don't mind if I do just that," said the wight. "Be warned, if we find any of them here, I'll personally shop of your tongue and feed it to my dog." And then the wight marched off.

"Don't. Even. Breathe," came the leader's whispered voice before he too walked away after the wight.

If I had been any less scared for my life, I might have pondered the reason why the Gypsies weren't turning us over. But I was scared - scared shitless - and there was no way I was going to spend what could very possibly be my last minutes alive worrying. I thought of a saying I'd always hated because it sounded stupid: "Don't look a gift-horse in the mouth." Hell no, I wouldn't.

Outside the cage we could hear the wights crashing their way through the Gypsies' camp, leaving no stone unturned. Boots kicking metal. Wood doors slamming against wood walls. A child's scream cut short by a harsh slap delivered by something wooden. Even if I hadn't previously witnessed the wrath of a wight, with a still-healing scar on my left arm and Millard's hastily-sealed shoulder wound to show for it, I would still think of them as barbarians for what they were doing to these people who hadn't even been convicted of anything - yet.

I felt the person to my right stir - Hugh. He crawled over to Bronwyn's unsinkable trunk and was about to open it before the strong-girl rested a hand on top of his. "What do you think you're doing?" she mouthed.

"We've got them before they get us first!" he replied, so quiet I could barely hear. Emma lifted herself slightly and practically rolled herself towards them. Jacob squeezed my hand once more before he followed her. After a few seconds of hesitation, I followed too.

"Don't be silly, Hugh. They'll shoot us to smithereens if we throw the eggs now," Emma reasoned, her voice barely even a whisper.

"Then what are we to do?" he replied, and I could see his frown despite the incessant darkness. "Lay around here until they find us?"

Then the rest of our little group was huddled around the trunk, each of us hoping to God that the wights were making enough of a ruckus outside that they wouldn't notice us.

"We'll wait until they unlock that door," began Enoch. "Then I'll throw an egg through the bars at the very back. That should distract them long enough for Bronwyn to smash the skull of whichever wight tries coming in first, which will give the rest of us time to run. We'll go to the outer edges of the camp, then turn and throw our eggs to the center campfire. Everyone in a thirty-meter radius-" he paused, puffing out his cheeks and imitating an explosion with his hands as a pshew left his mouth, finishing the sentence for him.

"Well, I'll be damned," Hugh said. "That might actually work!"

"But there are children in the camp! We have to think of something else!" Bronwyn objected.

Enoch scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Right, let's not bring down the number of wights on our tail. How about we negotiate our way out? Come on, if we want to make it to London alive, we can't worry about collateral damage!"

"Wyn," Hugh said quietly, patting her hand, which was still on the latch of the trunk. "Open it up and let's hand out the eggs, yeah?"

Bronwyn looked perplexed. "I just can't. We can't kill children who haven't done anything to hurt us."

"We have no choice," argued Hugh in a steady whisper.

"We always have a choice."

Enoch looked like he was about to snap at Bronwyn when a dog began to snarl near the bottom edge of the cage. It quickly fell silent, but my heart was pounding in my ears again. Not even a minute later, the beam of a flashlight illuminated the other side of the tarp.

"Tear down this here sheet!" someone demanded - most likely the handler of the dog, and almost definitely associated with the wights. 

At the wight's words, the dog barked and began sniffing at the trap. It was clear that it was trying to sniff its way underneath and into the cage. Almost simultaneously we looked at Bronwyn. "Please, just for defense," Hugh said, his voice quieter than it had been before.

"There's no other way," Enoch reasoned. Bronwyn finally sighed and gave in, removing her hand from the latch. Hugh showed his gratefulness with a silent nod as he opened the trunk's lid. We all took an egg each - that was, except for Bronwyn - before going to cluster at the cage door, readying ourselves for whatever would come next.

Another few sets of boots came pounding towards us, nearly matching the pace of my racing heartbeat. I tried in vain to remember our hurriedly executed plan, but all that was resonating in my head was a single word: run. I began to piece more together, and I began breathing the words with each exhale. Run. Run fast. Stop at the edge of the clearing. Throw the egg. Run again. The consequences of tossing the egg hadn't dawned on me yet.

A hand grabbed the tarp and began pulling. I prayed that it would get stuck. It didn't. But then it stopped, just short of revealing us.

"What's your problem?" the dog's handler said.

"I wouldn't go near that cage if I was you," said someone else, this time a Gypsy. I dared a look up, and I could see the starry night sky. The thing that had once calmed me as Millard and I sat together, looking out over the ocean, now no longer provided me with comfort. But perhaps it wasn't the stars that calmed me, but the presence of the invisible boy? It was no time to be thinking of him, but I once again wondered if I would ever see him again.

"Oh, really? And why's that?" asked the handler.

"Ol' Bloodcoat there ain't been fed for a few days," the Gypsy said simply. "Now, he don't usually care for human meat, but when he's as hungry as this, he ain't complaining about what he eats, so long as it's got bones!"

Then a bear's great roar sounded, and m heart lurched once more. How - how had it managed to sound like it had come from within the cage, like it was right next to us? The dog handler let out a surprised yelp and hurried back down the ramp, pulling on the dog's leash for it to follow.

I was paralyzed in place, so nervous and confused as to how a bear had managed to join us in the cage that I couldn't bring myself to move my feet. Jacob, however, pressed himself against the bars, while Olive put her fist in her mouth to keep herself from crying out.

On the other hand, outside the cage, the other soldiers were laughing at the dog handler. "Idiot," I heard him mutter to himself. "Only Gypsies would keep an animal like that in the center of their camp."

I was still too nervous to look behind me, but Jacob did and heaved a sigh of relief. I dared a glance over my shoulder, only to find no bear at all. But then how had that roar sounded so lifelike, unless they had another cage somewhere else along the line of caravans?

After only a few more minutes of half-hearted searching, the soldiers left unsatisfied. My heartbeat only slowed when I could no longer hear the rumble of the engine of their truck, and I was no longer paralyzed by fear. That didn't stop me from jumping when the tarp was, at last, pulled away from the cage. I held my egg in defense, ready to throw it at any attacker if need be. The Gypsies were gathered around us, now, but they seemed slightly less hostile than before.

"Is everyone all right?" the leader asked, standing in the middle of the ramp. "I'm sorry if that frightened you all."

"We're alive, if that's what you mean," Emma replied, the tension fleeing from her shoulders despite the obviously wary look in her eyes. "Where is this bear of yours?"

One man at the edge of the crowd stepped forward, an amused little half-smile on his face. "You lot ain't the only ones with a few tricks up your sleeves," he said, then, without another second passing, he growled like a bear and screeched like a cat, tossing his voice around the clearing with just the slightest tilts of his head. When we'd all snapped out of our shocked states, we applauded.

"I thought you said they weren't peculiar," I heard Jake say to Emma, who merely shrugged.

"Anyone can do that sort of parlor trick," she replied, and I raised my eyebrows. Before anyone could respond, the leader took a step forward.

"My apologies if I failed to introduce myself properly," he began. "I am Bekhir Bekhmanatov, and you are our honored guests." He then dipped into a deep bow. "Why did none of you mention you were syndrigasti?"

My eyebrows raised once more and we all gaped at Bekhir. He had used the ancient term for peculiars, the very one Miss Peregrine had taught Jacob and me only two weeks ago.

"Pardon me, but do we know you from somewhere?" asked Bronwyn.

"Where did you learn that word?" demanded Emma.

Bekhir granted us a smile and I noticed a familiar face show up just behind him, at the foot of the ramp, and I smiled too - it was Millard. "If you will accept our hospitality, I will gladly explain everything." Then, after another bow, he came forward and unlocked our cage.

\---

We sat on beautiful handwoven carpets around twin fires, gorging on stew and engaging in conversation with the Gypsies. I couldn't help but laugh when Jake dropped his spoon altogether and began eating straight from the bowl, but I couldn't blame him. We were hungry and cold and tired, and Bekhir wandered around making sure those feelings were put to an end. Millard remained inconspicuous, much to my displeasure, as that meant I couldn't look past his torso without a blush appearing on my cheeks. I was happy, at least, that he never left my side - that was the longest we'd been apart from each other since we'd left the island. It was ironic, though, that this was the sort of co-dependancy I used to tease Elaina and Ricky about back in Englewood. Before I could even begin missing my friends back in Florida, Bekhir spoke to all of us.

"I'm very sorry for how poorly you were treated," he said as he sat down on a cushion between the two campfires. "When it comes to the well-being of my people, I must take every precaution. There are too many strangers walking these roads lately. The sort of people who aren't what they seem to be. If you had told me you were syndrigasti . . ."

"We were told to never, ever tell anyone," Emma said.

"Ever, ever," added Olive, sending a smile to my lips at the sincerity in her tone. It was hard to believe she was much, much older than me.

Bekhir nodded, a ghost of a smile on his own face. "Whoever taught you that was very wise, indeed."

"So, how do you know about us?" asked Emma. "You speak the ancient tongue."

"Only a few words," he replied, looking into one of the fires, where a spit of meat was roasting. "Our people, both yours and mine, have an old understanding. We aren't very different. We are all outcasts, wanderers, souls clinging to margins of the word." He pinched a little bit of meat of the spit and ate it, clearly deep in thought as he chewed. "We are like allies. Over time, we Gypsies have even adopted and raised children like you."

"And we thank you for that, and for your hospitality," Emma replied. "But at the risk of appearing rude, we can't stay very much longer. We have a train to catch to London, and it is very important that we get there soon."

Bekhir nodded once more. "For your ill friend?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Hugh, who was no longer acting sick but instead eating happily, bees buzzing around his head.

"Something along those lines," Emma replied.

It was evident that Bekhir didn't believe her, but he was good enough to refrain from prying. It was for the best - we needed as few people as possible to know about Miss Peregrine. "Well, there will be no more trains tonight, I'm afraid. But we can rise at dawn tomorrow and bring you to the station before the first train leaves. Would that do?"

"It'll have to," Emma said, clearly worried for our ymbryne's safety. She only had a couple of days left, at this point. Despite our hitching a ride with the Gypsies, we had still lost a lot of time - a full day, to be exact. I must have looked uncomfortable, because Millard discretely took my hand, holding it in a way that made it appear like I was merely resting my hand on the ground next to me.

In no time at all, we were talking with the Gypsies like old friends, more than happy to forget what had happened between us just hours ago. Bronwyn apologized to the boy she had taken hostage earlier, but he acted like it was nothing. Every time I emptied my bowl - sneaking Millard a couple spoonfuls when no one was looking - the Gypsies would replenish it immediately, though my stomach was far from complaining. Miss Peregrine finally made herself known, hopping forward and tearing away at the meat the Gypsies placed in front of her with a screech.

"She's hungry!" said Olive with a laugh, clapping as the ymbryne tore at a pig knuckle.

"Aren't you glad we didn't blow them up?" Bronwyn asked Enoch in a whisper. He was too proud to do much more than grunt.

As the Gypsy band began playing another song, Millard rested a hand on my elbow. I met his gaze, his brown eyes appearing amber by the light of the flickering fire. "Take a walk with me in the woods?" he whispered. I smiled a little and nodded. I rose and tapped Emma on the shoulder, alerting both her and Jacob.

"Millard and I are going for a walk, in case anyone asks. I'm sure we won't be long," I told them quietly. 

"Alright," Emma said with a nod. Jake only gave me a suggestive smirk and wiggled his eyebrows, to which I responded by shoving his shoulder and rolling my eyes.

"Have fun," he teased, but I was already walking away, a smiling Millard at my side. Not even a moment later we were at the edge of the clearing. Without another second's hesitation, Millard took my hand and pulled me after him into the forest. Almost immediately, he began swinging me around to the music drifting from the center of the camp. We were far enough away that no one could hear my elated laughs unless they were listening for them.

As he spun me around in lopsided circles, his hands on my waist and mine on his shoulders, I couldn't help but forget about everything bad that had happened over the past few days. "So is this what you wanted to come out here for?" I asked, a wide smile on my face.

"That's one reason, yes," he replied, then stopped spinning and pulled me closer to him, leaving hardly two inches of space between our faces. "Reason number two: it's much harder to do this when we're surrounded by people who don't know I'm there."

I didn't even have to ask what he meant; his lips were on mine in seconds, the both of us smiling into the kiss. I adjusted my arms so that they were draped over his shoulders, and for the first time, I realized I didn't really mind that he wasn't wearing any clothes. It didn't really matter, since neither of us had any foul intentions. As one song ended and the next began, we finally pulled apart.

"I suppose that's true," I murmured, almost breathless, then a question dawned on me. "Where were you when those men came?"

"I hid in the bushes as soon as I heard them coming. It was terrible to watch them tear through the camp; I found myself fighting the urge to come out and scare them off. The entire time, I was worried that they would discover you all. I'm incredibly glad they didn't."

I nodded, the smile on my face much smaller than it had been just moments before. "So am I. We'd planned to escape and destroy the camp with the armageddon eggs before the Gypsies saved our asses. Of course, the plan was courtesy of our resident evil mastermind, Enoch."

It was Millard's turn to nod, though he seemed a little uncomfortable. "I see. I've been meaning to talk to you about Enoch, actually."

"What's there to talk about?" I asked, a little startled at how our conversation had changed topics. I took a step back, but still allowed Millard to keep me in his arms.

"I think you should ease up on him a bit. I understand he can be a great bother sometimes, but aside from Miss Peregrine, he's the only one of us who really remembers a time before the hollowgast. I think he used to be happier before they came to be - it really took a toll on him. At least, that's what Horace told me. Those two are surprisingly close." He paused to sigh, and he seemed to be picking his next words carefully. "I think what you said in the beach cave a few days ago was out of line. I understand we're all on edge, but it's really no excuse."

I stood still for a moment, pondering what he said. I suppose he had a good point, and thinking back on it, I was quite harsh. I'd never really understood why Enoch acted the way he did; why he was always grouchy and seemed to keep away from everyone else. Everything was finally beginning to make sense to me, though. I'd never thought too much about why he had to leave his first loop, but if the hollows had anything to do with it, I'm sure I would be upset as well. I realized that would give him all the more reason to be terrified now - he didn't want the same thing to happen again.

"You're right," I finally said, offering up a small smile and a kiss to Millard's cheek. "I'll apologize the next chance I get. And I'll try to be nicer. I can't make any promises about Enoch, though." Millard chuckled a little, the sound becoming more prominent as the song finally ended.

"I'm glad. There are times to be proud and there are times to be humble," Millard replied, taking my hand as we began walking back to the camp.

"Could you tell that to Enoch?" I asked, only half joking. We both smiled. He released my hand as we neared the campfire.

I sat back down next to Emma and Millard stayed standing behind me. "May I ask something?" she asked Bekhir, barely giving me a second glance.

"Of course," he replied.

"Why did you risk your lives to save ours?"

"You would have done the same thing," Bekhir said with a wave of his hand.

Emma furrowed her eyebrows. "I'm not sure I would have. I only want to understand: was it because we're peculiar?

"Yes." Behkir's response was uncomfortably simple, as if we'd asked him if the sky was blue or grass was green. A slightly unnerving moment passed. Bekhir glanced at the edge of the clearing, studying the trees. "Would you like to meet my son?" he asked, almost out of nowhere.

"Gladly," said Emma as she rose to her feet. I stood too, as did Jacob and several of the other children.

Bekhir raised a hand, warning us to wait. "He is very shy, I'm afraid. Only you," he pointed to Emma first, "the Americans" - Jacob and me - "and the one who can be heard but not seen."

"Impressive," Millard said, a little smile on his face. "And I was trying so hard to be inconspicuous."

I looked at him and chuckled a little before Enoch crossed his arms and sat back down with an audible hmph. "Why am I always left out? Do I smell?"

Before anyone could respond, a woman is a long, flowy robe approached. "While they're gone, how's about I tell you your fortunes and read your palms?" She offered. Turning to Horace she spoke again: "Perhaps you'll climb Mount Kilimanjaro some day!" and then to Bronwyn: "or marry a rich and handsome man!"

"Oh, I can only dream," Bronwyn scoffed, rolling her eyes a little as she did.

"Pardon me, madam, but the future is my specialty," Horace said after clearing his throat. "I'll show you how it's really done!"

Before we could see what he was going to do, Bekhir began to lead Emma, Jacob, Millard, and me across the camp. We stopped in front of one of the plainer looking caravans near the middle of the group and waited as Bekhir climbed the short ladder and knocked on the door.

"Radi? Please, come out," he beckoned with a gentle voice laden with a father's love. "I have some people here I'd like you to meet."

The door opened just a crack, but it was a woman's face that appeared. "He's scared. He won't even leave his chair," she explained to Bekhir, then took notice of us. She looked us over, then opened the door wider and invited us in. We climbed the stairs after Bekhir and entered the small yet cozy wagon. The doorway was so low that Jacob and Millard had to duck, while Emma and I narrowly made it without bumping our heads. 

The wagon was a single room that looked to be a combination of a living room, kitchen, and bedroom. There was a bed pushed against one wall with a small window above it. On the other side of the room was a small stove placed beneath a chimney in the roof, and against the far wall was a table and chair. It seemed to be just enough to survive on the road for weeks, maybe even months. I had reason enough to believe that was the very case. "Talk about open concept living..." I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.

In the single chair sat a boy. I recognized him from earlier, before Millard and I headed into the woods. The boy had played in the children band, using the very trumpet he was clutching in his hand now. It was safe to assume that this was Bekhir's son, making the woman, most likely, his wife.

"Remove your shoes, Radi," the woman instructed the boy.

Radi didn't meet anyone's eyes - rather, he trained his gaze on the wooden floor. "Do I have to?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes," replied Bekhir.

At his father's affirmation, Radi removed his boots. I was confused for a moment - what was so odd? I could very clearly see his feet, after all. I was still confused when Bekhir asked Radi to stand. Then, as I focused on the expressions of the others' faces, it struck me.

"Oh..." I whispered, but only Millard seemed to notice and he took my hand.

"He began to disappear just months ago," the woman said, stealing our attention away from Radi. "At first it was only his toes, but soon his heels went, too, and then the rest - both feet. No matter what I give him, they don't come back." I was speechless, but what was I supposed to say?

"We have no idea what to do," Bekhir said. "I thought, perhaps, if there is a healer in your group..."

"There's no way to heal what he's got," Millard finally said, and Radi's head jerked up, eyes wide. "He and I are alike. It happened the same way to me when I was about his age. Very few of us are born invisible; it happens a little bit at a time."

"Who's speaking?" Radi asked, and I couldn't tell if it was fear or amazement on his face, though I had a feeling it was the latter.

Millard glanced around for a second then picked up a scarf that was laying on the edge of the bed before wrapping it around his face to show Radi where he was, in a way. I had to stifle my laughter. "Here I am," he said softly, walking slowly towards Radi. "Don't be afraid." I felt a tug in my heart as Radi reached forward and rest his hand on Millard's cheek, then his forehead, then as he ran his fingers through Millard's dark blonde hair, giving it a few tugs.

"You're there..." Radi whispered, his voice and eyes filled with wonderment. "You're really there!"

"And so will you be," I said, catching the boy's attention. "Even when the rest of you disappears. I can prove it." Radi's face grew confused again, so I strode forward and took Millard's free hand. He watched as our fingers entwined, which was a little odd, but enough. "There are some, like me, who can see the invisible," I explained, not daring to elaborate, as there were still some things even I was wrapping my head around.

"And it doesn't hurt," Millard said. "I promise. You'll see."

Radi smiled, and as he did, the woman's knees began to quiver and she had to lean against Bekhir in order to not topple over. "Bless you," she said, and at first I thought she was only talking to Millard until she met my eyes. "Bless you, both."

Millard sat down then, and I began to kneel when Millard turned to me and shook his head. "Kallie, dearest, perhaps you should leave us to talk for a while. Invisible-to-Near-Invisible, I mean." I smiled a little and nodded.

"Of course," I replied, lifting the scarf on his face just enough for me to quickly peck his lips. "I'll see you later." With a smile, I released his hand and turned to meet Jake and Emma at the door. I was the last one out of the room, but as I was closing the door, I heard Radi ask a question I couldn't help but pay attention to.

"Is that girl with the odd red hair your lover?" Millard didn't reply for a few seconds longer than usual, but his response was more than enough for me.

"Well, I - yes, I suppose she is," he said, sending another smile to my face. It quickly faded as Radi asked another question.

"Is it because she can see you?"

Millard was quiet again, which worried me. It took even longer for him to reply, as if he was having doubts. "Well, I like to think that's not the only reason. I do suppose it's a bit of an asset, but there are other things that come into play in the matters of the heart."

I heaved a sigh of relief and hoped they hadn't heard through the crack in the door. Of course there was more than just Millard's aesthetics that I liked. He was intelligent and patient and kind, and he knew when to take things seriously and when to have fun. That, of course, was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to what I liked about him, and it wasn't even delving into what I actually felt for him. The feeling I got every time our eyes met... how could I ever describe that?

"Do you love her?" Radi asked, capturing all my attention once again. I dared not breathe. I felt like I was intruding, but I wondered myself what Millard felt for me. In all actuality, I wondered what exactly I felt for him. Was it love, or was it too early to say? We'd known each other for - what? It had been three weeks since Jacob and I had arrived in Cairnholm in our time, meaning I'd only known Millard for two and a half weeks. Was that too short an amount of time to fall in love?

"I-" Millard began, and my heart began racing a hundred miles an hour. "I believe I do." 

I don't think I'd ever worn a larger smile.

As I finally descended down the steps I noticed Jacob and Emma leaning away from each other, and even with influence by the blazing red fire, there was no hiding the blush on their cheeks. It didn't take a degree in rocket science to know that they'd just shared a kiss.

Jake was the first to notice me approaching. "Nice to see you've finally joined us, Mrs. Nullings," he teased as I sat down next to him.

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, shoving his shoulder. Twin smiles were on our faces, and Emma shook her head at us.

"I swear, you two are becoming more like siblings every day," she mused, though a smile was on her face as well. 

\---

Despite the fact that we were all dog-tired, the Gypsies wanted to keep us up for as long as possible. After a while longer, they managed to persuade us to stay awake with a few cups each of some incredibly caffeinated drink and some lively songs. They told stories that could classic writers to shame and sang so well I decided I'd rather listen to them than what was played on modern radio. In my head, I wished that we could take them with us on our journey, but in my heart, I knew that we couldn't.

Half the night was passed by stories and miniature shows put on by the Gypsies. One more notable show was that of the young man who'd thrown his voice to sound like wild animals earlier. His ventriloquist act was astounding - coming from a person who disliked puppets in all forms. When his display was finished, I wasn't sure whether I was more or less freaked out than before by the art of ventriloquism - it was incredibly well done, and almost to the point where I was afraid the dolls had developed minds of their own.

The young man also seemed to have a bit of a crush on Emma, which Jacob, evidently, didn't like very much. Nor did she, though, as the entire time the youth was delivering his performance - almost solely to her, no less - she made a point of not meeting his gaze and holding Jacob's hand. 

After that performance, the Gypsies regaled us with a story of how the British army had taken all their horses during World War One, leaving them with none to pull their wagons. They had been stranded in this very forest, until one day a herd of long-horned goats wandered their way into their camp. Though they appeared wild, they were actually tame enough to be fed directly by hand, a development which soon led to the idea of hooking one up to a wagon. Through that idea being expanded upon, they discovered that the goats were almost as strong as the horses they'd lost. Throughout the rest of the war, the Gypsies used the peculiarly strong goats as their means of pulling their wagons, earning their group the fairly fitting name of 'Goat People'.

For those skeptics in our group, they handed a picture around of Bekhir's uncle riding one such of these goat-drawn wagons. It was only after I'd passed along the photo that I remembered seeing a similar looking goat, and a very much alive one, back in Miss Wren's menagerie - an orphan of what I assumed was the very same group of goats. After the war ended and the Gypsies' horses were returned, the goats headed back off into the woods, never to be seen again.

When the fire was not much more than embers and the sky was almost purely black, the Gypsies' party, too, dwindled to next-to-nothingness. They set out sleeping rolls for us and sang a lullaby in a language I couldn't recognize, making me feel almost childlike as we all settled down to rest. The young ventriloquist paid Emma a short visit, and after he left, Emma and I giggled over the calling card he'd left for her. It was a sweet gesture, though, and a part of me longed to be in Emma's place - not necessarily for the sake of attention from a guy aside from Jacob or Millard, but as more of a desire for a strong sense of self and unwavering courage. Emma and I may have gotten off on the wrong foot, but we'd grown to be friends, and it was safe to say I now looked up to her.

As Jacob and Emma curled up together, I turned my back to them, facing the camp rather than the forest surrounding us. It was warmer than the previous night, but I was still chilly. I was tempted to move my sleeping roll closer to the fire, but decided I was already too comfortable - well, as comfortable as I could be on the ground - to move. As tired as I was, I couldn't help but let my eyes wander around the camp. The moon, though not at its full size, shed enough light to illuminate the figures around me - the bodies of my sleeping friends. The Gypsies had retired to their wagons, and I felt a little selfish for longing to sleep inside one as well.

I shut my eyes, though they itched to open again. I was tired, but apparently not tired enough. Something was missing - a hole that was quickly filled as I heard a set of footsteps near me. I opened my eyes and smiled sleepily when I set my eyes upon Millard, his coat tied around his waist once more. Seeing him wore away some of my laziness and I rose to a side-sitting position.

"You're still awake," he murmured, careful not to stir awake the rest of our company.

"You weren't here. What was I supposed to do?" I replied simply, shrugging a little. 

"Sleep, Kallie. You were supposed to sleep. You need it," he replied, more gentle than chaste.

I sighed and rolled my eyes a little, then patted the space next to me. "So do you. C'mon, there's enough room for both of us."

"Not yet," he said, shaking his head as he knelt by my side. "Radi wants to come along with us."

"Oh," was all I could say at first, though I wasn't the only one who said it.

"Sorry to intrude," Emma said quietly, not fully awake, but not yet asleep. "Radi is the boy who's turning invisible, correct?" she asked. Millard nodded.

"I told him it wasn't a wise idea, but I left the question open - neither yes nor no," he explained.

Emma thought for a moment, and I almost thought she'd fallen asleep before she spoke again. "We can't bring anyone else. It's hard enough as it is. At this point, he'll only slow us down."

"Yes, yes, I understand. It's just that he's disappearing quite rapidly, and he's actually very frightened. He'll be fully invisible by the end of the year, maybe even in the next couple of months, and he's worried that he'll fall behind one day and the others won't notice and he'll be lost in woods forever with the wolves and spiders."

My heart went out to Radi, but I knew that was Millard was requesting just couldn't be done. "Millard, you know it kills me to say this, but I'm with Emma on this. We've already had to leave behind two of our original number; we can't bring along anyone who wants to come. I know he'll be disappointed, but what you're asking... it's impossible." It almost physically hurt my heart to say it, but what else could I say?

"Very well," Millard replied stiffly, heaving a heavy sigh as he rose once more. "I see I can't sway you two. I'll go let him know."

As Millard strode away, Emma spoke again. "Thank you - it's hard being the one everyone looks to. Sometimes I feel like... oh, how do I say this without sounding high-and-mighty? I feel like - like -." I turned to face her once more.

"I get it," I said, smiling a little. "But you always have our full support. The only reason we don't object to your leadership is because you always seem so sure of yourself. I guess it's easy to forget that you aren't impervious to doubts."

Emma nodded. "Thank you for understanding, Kallie. I wish we'd become friends sooner."

"Yeah, well," I began with a shrug. "You threatened me with a knife the first time we met, and I'm not half as forgiving as Jake is," I said, punctuating it with a small laugh. Emma laughed a bit as well before yawning.

"Well, I'm quite tired. We should both be getting some rest now," she decided, then turned back around in Jacob's embrace. I granted her another small smile, though she didn't see it, before rolling over as well. I heard Jacob whisper something to Emma, though I couldn't discern what it was, then all was quiet save for the rustling of the wind through the trees.

Only a moment later Millard came back. "I'm sorry," I whispered to him as he settled in next to me. He stayed silent, so I continued speaking. "I hope you're not mad." More silence. He wrapped me in his arms, though, and I burrowed into his embrace.

Neither of us said anything, but our breathing matched and I felt infinitely better now that I was back in Millard's arms. Just as I was about to finally fall asleep, I felt Millard press a kiss to my forehead and murmur something so quiet I almost couldn't hear. If I had been any less tired, I might not have fallen asleep at all because of my speeding heartbeat.

"I think I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I owe y'all an apology. This chapter was posted on Wattpad all the way back in December, and I feel bad for not uploading it on here sooner!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After saying goodbye to the Gypsies, the peculiar children head off to the train station, but trouble soon finds them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY IT'S BEEN OVER SIX MONTHS SINCE I'VE UPDATED BUT I'VE BEEN SO BUSY AND STRESSED! Back in March, I went to Spain, then school just got significantly harder after that and I went through a bout of depression for a month or so. I just finished my exams yesterday though, so I'm free for the summer! Once again, I'm so sorry for the delay. I hope you all enjoy this (long overdue) update!

I awoke the next morning the same way I fell asleep - in Millard's arms and still very tired. Bekhir woke us at the crack of dawn.

"Good morning, syndrigasti!" he shouted, tossing us pieces of rock-hard bread as he weaved between our sleeping rolls. "There will be time for you to sleep when you're dead!"

"That won't be too long from now if this is all you've got," Enoch grumbled sitting up and hitting his piece of bread off a rock, making a sound reminiscent of a wood block.

Bekhir, eternally unoffended by anything Enoch could say, merely mussed up the boy's hair and laughed. "Ah, where's your peculiar spirit?"

"In the wash," the dead-riser replied, a scowl on his face. I couldn't help but laugh a little.

In another ten minutes, we were all ready to head into town. Bekhir was keeping his promise and set everything up so we'd get to the nearest town before the first train left. There wasn't much we could do before our departure aside from eating our bread and waking ourselves up with a splash of cold water to our faces. I made a silent promise to myself to never again take my healthcare products for granted - what I wouldn't have done for at least a hairbrush and toothbrush.

The Gypsies watched us with melancholy expressions. I could barely meet any of their eyes - the sadness found within was overwhelming. They could each read from the heaviness in our steps that the previous night had been our last one of fun, and now we were heading a for a metaphorical executioner's block. Jake tried cheering one of the children up, but we all knew it was no use.

Nine horses and riders were gathered for us, and I felt myself wishing I'd taken up riding when I was younger like my dad had suggested. However, I was terribly afraid of the idea of falling off one and barely made it ten minutes on my first - and last - ride. But things were different now. Not only was horse-back riding the only reasonable option, as a caravan would not be as quick, but I was no longer that scared little girl. I'd nearly died, and I'd faced off against monsters; falling off a horse would be a pinprick compared to the emotional scars I'd gained in the past couple weeks.

We took off at a gallop, barely giving me time to wave one last 'farewell' to the Gypsies who had gathered around to see us off. Bekhir led our group. I gripped tightly to the rider in front of me, wishing we'd at least started off at a walk and slowly gotten faster as we went. It was too late to complain, though. I noticed how Radi, sitting behind his father, was sitting. His back was straight and his arms were at his side. His posture exuded a confidence he clearly did not have the night before. He first right in with the Gypsies. That was where he belonged.

It wasn't until my legs had fallen asleep that we'd slowed to a trot. The forest around us had thinned into a vast expanse of fields and the sun was slowly rising in the east. Before us was a valley, in the middle of which a town was nestled, though it was still a long way off. A path of smoky, white puffs was snaking toward the town. The first train of the day was coming.

Bekhir finally stopped us when we reached the town gates. "This is as far as we can go. Townsfolk don't like us much. You wouldn't want the sort of attention we receive."

I was a little startled at his remark. These people were so kind, but I suppose it made sense - it was only 1940, and there were still prejudices against people such as the Gypsies, and even us peculiars. We dismounted and began our goodbyes.

As we were about to enter the town, Radi nearly leaped from his father's horse and shouted out to us. "Wait! Bring me with you!"

I turned to Millard, but Emma was already talking to him. "I thought you spoke with him."

"I did," Millard replied, as confused as the rest of us.

Radi opened the saddlebag and removed a bag, which he then slung over his shoulder. He was already packed. "I can cook," he began, "and chop wood, and ride horses and tie all kinds of knots!"

"Oh, joy, let's give him a merit badge," Enoch grumbled under his breath.

Emma disregarded Enoch's comment and smiled sadly down at Radi. "I'm sorry, but it can't be done."

"But I'm one of you, and becoming more so by the second! Just look what's happened!" he replied, and before anyone could stop him, Radi unbuckled his pants and dropped them to his ankles. I looked away as soon as he reached for his belt, as did the other girls.

"Keep your trousers on, you depraved lunatic!" Hugh cried out. Millard gasped and slammed a hand over my eyes. It was safe to assume that what I could see, they couldn't.

"But look at how much I've disappeared in just a day! Soon I'll be gone completely!" Radi said, though his tone of voice was more panicked than excited. There were nervous murmurs from the Gypsies and peculiar children alike.

"Great bird! He's only half there!" Enoch exclaimed.

"Oh, poor thing," Bronwyn mused. "Can't we take him in?"

Enoch scoffed at that. "For heaven's sake, pull your pants back up. The only male bits Kallie wants to see are Millard's."

"Enoch!" Bronwyn exclaimed as many surrounding faces turned red, mine included. Radi sheepishly pulled up his pants, mumbling an apology to me. I could only nod in response.

"And besides, we aren't a traveling circus you can join and leave at will," Enoch continued as if he hadn't said what he did. "This is a dangerous journey to save our ymbryne, and we're in no position to be playing nanny to a clueless new peculiar."

It was obvious that Enoch's words hurt Radi, whose backpack slipped from his shoulder and fell to the ground, tossing up a small cloud of dust.

"That was much too harsh," Emma scolded. "Now apologize."

"I won't. This is a terrible waste of what little time we have."

"Enoch, these people saved our lives!"

"Which wouldn't have needed saving if they hadn't trapped us in that cage in the first place."

Emma let out an exasperated sigh when she realized she'd get nowhere with arguing further. She turned back to Radi and spoke to him once more. "If things were different, we'd be more than happy to invite you to join us. But right now, our entire civilization is at stake of being destroyed. This all just happened at a very bad time."

Radi's face was now contorted with sadness. "It's just not fair," he said, the tone in his voice nearly breaking my heart. "Why couldn't I have begun disappearing months ago? Why now?"

"Each peculiar's talents manifest at different times," Millard explained. "Sometimes when they're very young, and sometimes when they're quite old. I recall there was once a man who didn't realize he could move objects with his mind until the ripe old age of ninety-two."

"I was lighter than air the minute I was born," Olive piped up. "I popped right out of me mum and rose up to the ceiling! The only thing that stopped me from floating out the window was the umbilical cord. They say the doctor fainted, he was so shocked!"

Bronwyn patted Olive's shoulder gently. "You're still shocking, dear."

Millard turned back to Radi, a ghost of a smile on his face at Olive's story. "What does your father think of this?" he asked.

"Well, of course I wish he wouldn't leave," Bekhir began, "but I don't see how we'll take care of him if we can't even see him. He wants to leave, and I'm wondering that perhaps he'll be better off with his own kind."

I furrowed my eyebrows at his words. "Well, you love him, don't you?" I asked. "And he loves you, right?"

It was Bekhir's turn to furrow his brow. He was clearly a traditional type father - the kind of man who would be off-put by a question like that. And off-put he was. "Of course I love him. He's my son."

"Then you are his kind," Millard said. It made me happy that our trains of thought seemed to be on the same track. "He's meant to be with you, not us. I couldn't think of a better group of people to look after him."

Bekhir didn't strike me as the type to show emotion in front of his men, but what Millard said must have struck a cord inside his heart, for his jaw tensed and his eyes flickered the same way a child's might when trying not to cry. He nodded and held out a hand to Radi. "Come along, then. Grab your bag and we'll get going. Your mother'll have tea waiting for us."

"Alright, Papa," Radi said, his voice both pleased and disappointed as he reached for his knapsack.

"You'll be alright," Millard reassured him, patting Radi's shoulder before stepping back once more. "Better than alright, even. And when everything is over, I'll come looking for you, alright? There are many more like us, and we'll find them all some day. Together."

"Promise?" Radi asked, his deep brown eyes brightening with hope.

"I promise," Millard replied, mustering up a smile that was mostly pointless, almost as if he was trying to assure himself more than Radi. I barely caught the unsure tone in his voice, mostly masked by that hope that he really would be able to keep the promise that seemed impossible to fulfill, what with the problems we had yet to face.

Before anyone could say anything else, Radi climbed up onto his father's horse. With one last collective wave, we stepped through the town gates.

\---

The town was accurately named Coal. Simply 'Coal', with no fancy additions at the end. Piles of the stuff were everywhere, stacked next to the entrances of houses and floating up as smoke from chimneys and streaking the faces and clothes of the few men we passed. We hurried past them.

"Quickly, please. No talking, heads down," Emma murmured, just loud enough that we all could hear her.

By then, it had been silently yet unanimously decided that we were to avoid unnecessary eye contact at all costs. We couldn't risk it, not now. Not when so much was at stake. I thought it was a little bit silly as our group of nine children would no doubt draw questions, but one thought repeated like a mantra through my head, relaxing me somewhat: you don't speak their language, you don't speak their language. It's easier if you act like you don't speak their language.

When we finally arrived at the train depot, I was admittedly shocked that trains even bothered coming through - it was small and looked about as blackened by coal as everything else around it. The only part that had a roof was the ticket booth, which was a squat little cubicle in the center of the platform. Inside the booth, a man sat sleeping with his glasses beginning to slip off his nose like they might in a cartoon. Emma knocked on the window a few times, and the man awoke with a start.

"Eight tickets to London, please!" she said. "It is of utmost importance that we make it there by this afternoon."

The man gave us each a short once-over, then removed and cleaned his glasses before looking over us again. I couldn't blame him - a group of ten children with messy clothes and hair certainly wasn't a sight seen often, no matter what year it was.

"I'm sorry, but the train is full," he replied. I scoffed at that, not caring if he heard - there were no more than half a dozen people waiting for the next train, and all of them were snoozing on benches. I could hear the man closest to us snoring.

"That's preposterous!" Emma said, furrowing her eyebrows. "Sell us those tickets at once, or I'll have to report you to the rail authority for child discrimination!"

I turned to Hugh, who was to my left. "Can she actually do that?" I whispered. His only response as a shrug. I looked to Millard on my right, but received the same answer.

"If there was such statute, it definitely would not apply to you. As you should very well know, there's a war on, and there are much more important things to be brought about her majesty's country than children and animals!" At that, he glared at Miss Peregrine. "Which are not allowed regardless."

A train finally rumbled into the station, sending shivers down my shoulders as it squealed to a halt. The conductor leaned out one of the windows and began shouting. "Eight-thirty to London! All aboard!" The snoring man and the other bench occupants roused themselves and began to make their way toward the train. I could feel my pulse begin to quicken - we couldn't miss this train.

A tall man in a gray suit pushed past us and paid for his own ticket before heading off toward the train in no less than thirty seconds.

"I thought you said the train was full!" Emma challenged, knocking on the glass even harder than before. "You can't deny us passage!"

"That gentleman," the clerk replied, gesturing behind him to where the man was boarding the train, "purchased a first-class ticket. Now get away, you pestilent little beggars. Go pick pockets elsewhere!"

Horace decided it was his turn to persuade the clerk and took a few steps forward. "Beggars, by definition, do not carry large amounts of money," he stated, then withdrew from his coat pocket a wad of bills and set it before him on the counter. "If first-class is all we can buy, then that's what we'll have."

The clerk was taken aback, straightening up in his seat and dropping his jaw at the sight of the money. The rest of us couldn't help but do the same - where the hell had Horace gotten all of that, and why was this the first time he'd mentioned it? The clerk grabbed the money and began counting through it. "This is enough for a whole first-class car!" he exclaimed.

"Then that's what we'll take. Now you can be sure we won't pick anyone's pockets," Horace replied with a smirk. The clerk's face reddened.

"Yes, s-sir - t-terribly sorry, sir - and I hope you won't take too much offense by my previous comments . . ."

"Oh, just give us the blasted tickets so we can get on the train!"

"Right away, sir!" Sorry again!" And with that, the clerk slid a large stack of first-class tickets through the hole in the glass. "Enjoy your trip! And don't tell anyone I said this, sirs and madams, but if I were in your position, I'd keep that bird out of sight. The conductors would have a fit regardless of what it says on your tickets."

We all made our way to the train, Horace in the lead with our tickets in hand and his chest puffed out proudly.

"Where did you manage to get all that money?" Emma asked him, just as perplexed as the rest of us.

"I grabbed it from Miss Peregrine's dresser before the house burned down," he replied. "I tailored a special pocket into my coat to keep it safe."

"That's genius, Horace!" Bronwyn exclaimed.

Enoch scoffed. "Yeah? Would a genius spend all of our money for an entire first-class car? It's not like we need it."

"Well, no, we don't," Horace, "but making that man look stupid was worth every penny, don't you think?"

"I suppose it was worth it," Enoch said.

"And that is because the real purpose of money is manipulation and belittlement."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "I'm fairly positive that's not what it's for."

"Oh, I'm just kidding!" he replied. "We all know it's for buying clothes."

Just as we were about to board the train, the conductor stopped us. "Tickets, please," he said in a less than inviting tone. As his hand closed around the wad of tickets Horace held out for him, the conductor noticed Bronwyn stuffing something into her coat. His eyes narrowed. "What've you got there?"

"What've I got where?" Bronwyn countered, trying to maintain a relaxed disposition as she held her arms tight over the wriggling mass inside her coat.

"There, in your coat!" he said, pointing an accusing finger at her. "Don't joke around with me, girl."

Bronwyn's face started turning pink. "It's... It's a bird?" she tried, stammering a little.

Emma hung her head as Enoch let out a groan and squeezed his eyes shut. I felt my stomach drop.

"You know the rules: no pets on the train!" the conductor said sharply, and I couldn't help but flinch a little. Millard rested a hand on my forearm and I took a deep breath, nodding my head the slightest bit.

"You don't understand," Bronwyn began, defending herself. "I've had her since I was a baby... and - and we just have to go on this train, we just have to... and we spent so much money on our tickets!"

"Don't toy with me, young lady! Rule are rules, and they must be followed!"

At the conductor's words, Emma finally looked up, her eyes bright. "That's just it, sir! It's not a real bird, it's a toy. We couldn't ever dream of breaking the rules. See, it's my sister's favorite toy, and she thinks you intend to take it from her." For added measure, Emma clasped her hands together. "You wouldn't take a poor child's favorite toy away, would you?"

The conductor assessed Bronwyn for a few seconds. "She looks too old to be interested in such toys, don't you think?"

Emma thought for a split second before taking a step forward. "Well, you see... how should I put this? She's a bit behind the rest of us," she whispered. Bronwyn seemed displeased, but all she could do was play along.

"Very well, then," the conductor said, taking a step toward Bronwyn. "Let's see this toy."

At last, the moment we'd all been dreading arrived. Bronwyn reached into her coat and pulled out Miss Peregrine. I inhaled sharply when I realized the ymbryne had gone completely rigid - had she died? It took me a second to realize that she, like Bronwyn, was playing along.

"You see? It's ain't real. It's stuffed," Bronwyn said.

"Then how come I saw it move?" countered the conductor. Without delay, Bronwyn replied.

"It's a wind-up toy, sir. Look."

With that, she knelt to the ground and set Miss Peregrine down sideways. Then she lifted one of the ymbryne's wings and pretended to wind her up. Hardly ten seconds later, Miss Peregrine's eyes shot open and she began to wobble around, acting as if she were a robot with spring-loaded legs and a mechanical neck. After a moment or so, she finally stopped with a few more jerking movements then fell back over, just as stiff as she was before. I had to fight the urge to clap.

The conductor seemed wary, but he sighed and shook his head. "Very well. If that is a toy, then I don't see why you can't put it in your toy chest, hm?" He then nodded in the direction of Bronwyn's trunk where she'd set it down.

"It's not a-"

"Oh, of course, of course!" Emma said, sending Bronwyn a hard glance as she opened the trunk. "You can put it away now, sister!"

"What if there's no air in there?" Bronwyn hissed, hopefully quietly enough that the conductor couldn't hear.

"Then we'll poke some damned holes in it!" Emma shot back, casting a slightly nervous glance over her shoulder at the conductor, who was looking at the two of them with suspicion.

Bronwyn huffed and picked up Miss Peregrine. "Terribly sorry, Miss," she murmured as she set the ymbryne down inside the trunk and latched it closed.

At last, the conductor glanced at our tickets, still in his hand. His eyes widened. "First class? That's all the way down at the front!" he said, pointing toward the opposite end of the platform. "You'd better hurry, now!"

We immediately began jogging down the platform and away from the conductor. I let out a loud groan. "Now he tells us. It's his fault if we miss it."

As if the world didn't want us to catch a break, the train let out a puff of steam and a loud, screechy groan as it slowly started to move. As it began to speed up, we finally came even to the first-class car. Bronwyn, who had quickly overtaken those in front of her, was the first one who jumped through the open door. She set down her trunk before lifting Olive in with her.

"Stop!" shouted a deep voice from behind us. It definitely wasn't the conductor. I didn't dare look back, for that would only mean losing focus on chasing the train. "Get away from that train!"

"My God, if there's one more person that's gonna try to stop us from getting on this damn train..." Enoch began, but didn't bother finishing his thought. Not that he would have been able to, as a gunshot rang out, causing Jake to lose his footing and tumble out of the doorway of the train. I was just behind him and dodged around him, simultaneously dodging him and getting into position to hop on for myself. I felt bad, but I would do everything I could to help everyone else on once I was on.

I grabbed Bronwyn's outstretched hand with one hand and the doorway of the train with my other, and with one unison heave, I tumbled into the train. Just as I steadied myself, the man shouted again. "I said stop!" I took hold of the doorway again and leaned out just far enough to see that the man shouting us was a soldier, standing with his knees bent in firing stance on the platform. His gun - a rifle, to be exact - was trained on us. He shot two more bullets, one whizzing just past my nose, to reinforce his words. "Get off the train and down on your knees!" he ordered, walking briskly towards us.

I was terrified. Despite my brain screaming at me to grab the next person and pull them up onto the train, I knew I should do what the soldier said. Something told me next time he fired that rifle, he wouldn't miss. I leaped down from the train and took Olive from Bronwyn before she jumped down, too. We joined the others and dropped to our knees. As the man neared, I took notice of his eyes - they were pure white.

"Shit," I murmured as I realized we'd left the trunk with Miss Peregrine on the train. There was my brain screaming again, telling me to go back for her, but the train had already left the station. We were too late. Jake must have come to the same realization as I had, for he leaped up, only to be greeted by the cold metal of the wight's rifle against his forehead.

"Down. On. Your. Knees." the wight said through clenched teeth. Jake dropped back to his knees.

He brought back his rifle a few inches, but that was all. None of us felt any safer. We all knelt, our hands in the air and our hearts beating out of our chests. The adrenaline slowly began to leave my body and my legs began to ache, probably from all the running and the impact of dropping down from the train.

The wight circled us, and though he was the one with the rifle, he still seemed nervous. While to any normal person, we appeared to be just a random group of unspecial kids, this wight knew exactly what we were capable of. Besides, in the past three days, we had managed to kill a wight and two hollowghast. Not really an easy feat. He wore his soldier outfit awkwardly, too. His clothes looked ill-fitting, like he'd stolen them, and his hat was too far back on his head. He barely exuded the confidence I'd expect a soldier to have, which meant he was scared of us. That set me on edge even more - fear could make people do crazy things.

A buzz of static came from the radio on the wight's belt. He detached it and spoke into it in code. Another buzz occurred and the wight received an answer, also in code. My nerves were multiplying by the second. As soon as he clipped the radio back to his belt, he turned to us and ordered us to stand.

"Where are we going?" Olive asked, her little voice quavering.

The wight smiled at her - an evil, twisted smile that made my stomach turn. "We're going for a walk. A nice, orderly, little walk." I'd heard enough English accents by that point to know the wight's was complete and utter bullshit. And I thought wights were supposed to be masters of disguise.

As he pushed us all into a line, he began barking orders once more. "You will not stray from the line. You will not run. I have fifteen rounds here - that's more than enough for all of you. If I have to chase you down, I'll cut off your insignificant little thumbs and keep them as souvenirs."

"Yes, sir," Millard said from behind me.

"And absolutely no talking!" the wight continued. "Now march!"

We walked past the now empty ticket booth and down the stairs of the platform, through the depot, through the streets, and past the inhabitants of Coal. When we'd first passed through, they had scarcely paid us any attention. Now they watched us like hawks as we marched through the center of their town - at gunpoint, no less. I began playing with my hair out of nervousness, draping my ponytail over my shoulder and braiding and unbraiding it.

The wight shouted at us anytime someone would take even a step out of line on accident. I wouldn't have been surprised if he waved his gun to emphasize his point when he did, despite the fact that he was behind us and we wouldn't dare look back for fear of being met with a bullet between the eyes. I was scared for everyone's lives, and despite my lack of belief in a higher power, I said a silent prayer to anyone who'd listen.

As we neared the gates of Coal, a vehicle pulled up alongside us. I didn't dare a glance back to look at who or what it was, but my best guess was probably right.

"Wights?" I whispered to Millard, directly behind me.

His response was made up of two words that struck more fear into my heart. "Yes. Two."

Shit. I nod a little, letting Millard know I heard him. We carried on through the town gates. I grew conscious of the sound of gravel under my feet and cringed a little with each step I took. I tried to focus on the sound of the rumbling of the vehicle beside us and the sight of Bronwyn's head in front of me. From my peripheral vision, I could see that the road we walked along was lined with trees. I turned my head a little both ways to see that beyond the trees on both sides were barren, empty fields. I was startled when I heard Millard clear his throat.

"Have you seen Hugh?" he asked, so quiet I could barely hear him.

I finally dared a glance behind me to make a quick head-count: Millard, Olive, Horace, Enoch, Emma, and Jacob. I quickly looked forward once more when I thought I caught that wight's eye. I shook my head and was about to whisper 'no', but I was stopped when I heard a gentle buzzing by my right ear. I looked over and saw that a bee had landed on my shoulder.

"He must be close," I whispered back to Millard.

"Hopefully not too close."

All I did in response was nod as the bee took off once more. I jumped when I heard the sharp voice of the wight shout for someone to get back in line. I looked back to see Jake shuffle quickly back to his place. I looked down at my own feet, keeping an eye on Bronwyn in front of me to make sure I wouldn't make the same mistake.

I only looked up when Bronwyn gasped and Millard took my hand. All I saw were three heaps in front of us by the side of the road. Something moved in the corner of my eye, and tears sprang to my eyes as I looked to the left to see the ghosts of three horses galloping through the fields. I looked back at the massive heaps and finally put two and two together: the wights had killed these horses.

Olive screamed and Bronwyn turned to comfort her. "Don't look, little magpie!" she cried, but it was like watching a train crash in slow motion - as painful as it was to watch, we just couldn't look away. The wight fired into the air, causing us all the crouch to the ground and cover our heads.

"If you do anything like that again, you'll be lying there with them!" he threatened. We got up quickly and carried on in silence.

As we drew closer yet to them, I recognized them as the Gypsies' horses. The ornate patterns on their bridals, the braids in the mane and tail of the one I'd been riding just an hour earlier. Their wounds looked fairly fresh, but the smell was already overpowering. I gagged and pulled my top over my nose, but that was no better - it was dirty and reeked of sea water, sweat, and dry blood, even after swimming around in that lake.

I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind. I didn't want to think about what had happened to lead up to the deaths of these horses, and I didn't want to think about where the Gypsies were now. I just wanted this all to be over. I wanted to wake up in my bed in the Priest Hole are get ready for a day with the children. I wanted to wake up from a bad dream in my apartment in Englewood and go back to bed after having a glass of water. I wanted to wake up on the couch, cuddled up to my dad and James after we all had fallen asleep watching another Disney movie. I just wanted to wake up from this fairy tale dream that had quickly turned into a horror movie nightmare. I screwed my eyes shut and tightened my hands into fists, wishing for this nightmare to end.

But when I opened my eyes again, we were in front of a house. I hadn't noticed that we'd turned off the main road and onto a footpath. I hadn't even noticed that there was no longer the tell-tale rumble of a vehicle behind us - the path was too narrow for the wights to drive along, so they'd joined us on foot. A god-awful, shitty feeling tugged at my heart, telling me that this nightmare was far from over. In fact, I felt that it was only just beginning.


End file.
